Learn To Be Still
by WitchGirl
Summary: Greg couldn’t figure out exactly why he felt so guilty flirting with the new girl in front of Nick. He thought it was just because she had replaced Warrick. Boy, was he wrong. Nick/Greg slash. Love triangles, soul-searching, self discovery, action & angst
1. Collide

Learn To Be Still

**Summary:** Greg couldn't figure out exactly why he felt so guilty flirting with the new girl in front of Nick. He thought it was just because she had replaced Warrick. Boy, was he wrong. Nick/Greg slash.

**_Author's Note:_** While not _against_ the Nick/Greg ship, I have never actually gone out of my way to read it, let alone _write_ it. Though when asked what my favorite slash ship is on CSI, I don't miss a beat— it's definitely those two. Followed maybe by Cath/Sara. So after watching some YouTube videos I stumbled upon by pure accident, and reading a particular fic (series) by LaughableBlackStorm, I decided to give Nick/Greg a whack.

Also, just because I'm beginning posting for this does not mean I will leave anyone in the dark with _Waking the Dead._ As that story is almost finished, I wanted to get the ball rolling with this one.

Lastly, I want to put a disclaimer on Bryce Adams: Though technically a canon character (who will be played by Lauren Lee Smith in season nine), as we have not seen much of her I have had to improvise about 98 percent of her character. So I guess she can be classified as an OC.

* * *

_Just another day in paradise  
As you stumble to your bed  
You'd give anything to silence  
Those voices ringing in your head  
You thought you could find happiness  
Just over that green hill  
You thought you would be satisfied  
But you never will  
Learn to be still_

_We're like sheep without a shepherd  
We don't know how to be alone  
So we wander 'round this desert  
And wind up following the wrong gods home  
But the flock cries out for another  
They keep answering that bell  
One more starry-eyed Messiah  
Meets a violent farewell  
Learn to be still_

_There are so many contradictions  
In all these messages we send  
We keep asking, "How do I get out of here?"  
"Where do I fit in?"  
Though the world is torn and shaken  
Even if your heart is breakin'  
It's waiting for you to awaken  
And someday, you will  
Learn to be still_

-- Don Henley

* * *

He was driving to the crime scene alone, which left him time to think about what his problem was. As little as he would like to admit it, he actually enjoyed the long drives to distant scenes with nothing but him and his silent radio. Nick wouldn't have guessed that. Every time they rode together, Greg always had to drown out the silence with his babblings. Nick didn't know it was because Greg was uncomfortable when there was silence between them.

But now, he was going to meet Nick there. He had been called in from a basic B&E with Catherine, and to be honest, he was glad for the 419, which was sure to hold his interest better than Catherine's case. He wondered if it was the mark of a bad CSI when he actually looked forward to deaths over petty crime. He dismissed the thought, and drifted more towards Bryce.

She was cute, Greg would give her that. Although, everyone else on the team had greeted her with hostility. Especially Nick. Nick.

Greg had tried to be nice. But every time Nick caught her laughing at Greg's jokes, Greg always felt like he had been caught in the middle of a crime. Greg would make some excuse and a quick exit, leaving Bryce baffled. And that just made him feel worse.

He didn't like that his loyalties were torn. He wanted to be a good guy to the new girl, but he always felt like he was betraying Nick on a deeper level. As if he was saying that Bryce was a good replacement for Warrick. As if _anyone_ could be a good replacement for Warrick. But that wasn't it at all! Bryce didn't even know who she was replacing. It wasn't like she was the one that killed Warrick. She shouldn't suffer for Nick's psychological issues.

_"Hey, Bryce, you got a sec?"_

_She stopped and turned, her red hair glinting in the harsh light of the lab. "Sure, Greg, what do you want?"_

_He shrugged, coyly, trying to be cute. "I dunno... Grissom gave me this case, and while he didn't _exactly_ say I have to do it alone—"_

_"I'm busy," she interrupted with a half shrug. She turned around and continued down the hall._

_"With what?" Greg called after her. "Hodges told me he logged the trace for your assault charges hours ago. And _Brass_ told me that the guy confessed anyway."_

_She paused and her back tensed. She turned around and strode quickly towards Greg. "I really appreciate you being nice to me. But I think Grissom would prefer it if we worked alone."_

_"How's that?" Greg inquired._

_She shrugged. "I don't know... He assigned you to this case solo, he's assigned me to _every_ case solo, after that fiasco with Catherine—"_

_"That wasn't your fault," Greg said quickly. "You didn't know Lindsey was her kid."_

_"She nearly got me fired," Bryce said, blushing a little. "But when I was a cop, I learned that when you tell a kid not to cross crime scene tape and they don't listen—"_

_"If it were anyone else's kid you pushed against a cop car and cuffed, I'm sure she would have lauded you," Greg tried to reassure her._

_She squirmed. "I just... I don't think I belong here, Greg. Everyone wants Warrick."_

_He pushed her hair back, turning on his classic Greg Sanders charm. "I want you," he whispered. He saw someone stop a little ways behind Bryce as she giggled, embarrassed by Greg's words. But Greg was focused on the man behind her, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he watched Nick's expression for anything other than silent accusations._

_He was suddenly insanely self-conscious and he pulled his hand away from Bryce. But her cheeks were as red as her hair as she tried to ask, "Greg, would you like to go—"_

_"Nick," Greg said, his smile permanently gone as he watched the Texan simply stand there, watching them._

_Bryce gasped and spun around to see the man in question. With Bryce's flushed face, and Greg's guilty expression, the two of them looked like lovers caught in an affair. But Bryce wanted more than a secret sin. She wanted to make it public._

_Ignoring Nick, she turned back to Greg and placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. He blinked at her a minute as she stared back at him before moving forward and deftly kissing him, softly, desperately, nervously, sloppily, yearningly— Her hands climbed back into his hair, pushing her body against his, and he had to reciprocate. It wasn't the kind of kiss you could passively just wait to be over. The awkward wanting of a bold last resort was not one to be ignored. He soothed her fears with his lips and slowed her heart with his hands, gliding slowly over her arms to give her a rhythm to sing to._

_By the time they had broken apart, Nick was gone._

_And Greg felt worse than before._

_"Greg!" Catherine barked authoritatively from the end of the hall behind him and he whirled around to see her._

_"What?!" Greg demanded testily._

_Catherine didn't seem to care as she briskly swept down the hall and presented him with a file. "You're on my case."_

_"Anything to get you off of mine," Greg mumbled, and followed her out of the building._

Greg hadn't seen Nick since Bryce kissed him and he was wondering what he was going to say when they saw each other at the scene again. It was time to deal with what was driving them both crazy. Greg was sure that thing was Warrick, although something in the back of his head told him not to simplify such complicated problems. He didn't know why, but he felt there was something else Nick wasn't telling him. And it had been going on long before Warrick's death.

Finally, he saw flashing sirens and crime scene tape and pulled over to the side of the road. He approached and nodded at Vega before ducking under the tape. He looked left, then right before spotting the body, and Nick, hovering over it and taking evidence. Greg took a deep breath and held it. It was now, or never.

He strode over there confidently, certain that he had done absolutely nothing wrong, and he was going to let Nick have it for making him feel so awful over nothing. Upon hearing his footsteps, Nick looked up from behind his camera and his expression was far from welcoming.

"What are you doing over here? I thought you were with Catherine!"

"Well, Grissom called and said you needed me," Greg snapped defensively. "What, not happy to see me?"

Nick grumbled and just went back behind his camera.

"So," Greg said, crouching down on the other side of the body. "What happened to this guy?"

"Someone threw him out of a moving vehicle," Nick explained flatly, clearly annoyed. "Look, the—"

"Disturbed dust, I know," Greg finished for him. "Skid marks on the road, too. I saw them coming in. Did you photo—"

"I've done _everything_," Nick growled, rising to his feet and pocketing his camera. "I don't need you."

"Fine!" Greg exclaimed, jumping up as well to maintain eye contact with Nick. "Then I guess we're done here."

"I guess we are," Nick returned icily. "I'll see you back at the lab."

"Look, I just want to check with Vega to make sure we're set to go," Greg said. "You're not just leaving half this scene unprocessed because you're pissed at me for some obscure reason, are you?"

"If I was mad at you," Nick muttered, "then I wouldn't let it get in the way of me processing a scene."

"You're obviously mad at me, Nick," Greg said. "And I think I know why."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I'm just tired, OK? I'm pulling a double here."

"Wah wah," Greg whined, imitating a crying child.

Nick shook his head, seized his kit, and made his way to his car. Greg walked over to Vega.

"Who is the guy?" he asked. "Any suspects?"

Vega began filling him in on the particulars of the case. Greg listened as much as he could, but his mind was still preoccupied with Nick's erratic behavior. And then, he noticed Vega trailing off. He saw the detective wave, and looked over his shoulder to see Nick making his way begrudgingly over to them.

"Hey," Nick said with a nod at Vega. His eyes moved to Greg. "I, uh... I need a ride. I'm kinda outa gas."

Greg cocked an eyebrow, because both of them knew he had won this round. "Oh you do? Looks like you needed me here after all."

Nick held out his hand. "I'm driving."

"Hell no," Greg cried. "It's my car!"

"It's the lab's car, you just drive it," Nick reminded him.

Greg's eyes narrowed, but he walked right past Nick. "You want a ride, you'll have to deal with me driving."

Nick stared at his retreating back before giving in. "Fine!" he called, jogging to catch up with Greg. "But I get to choose the music."

"I prefer silence," Greg said sharply.

"Since when?"

"Since now." He opened the door. "You coming?"

Reluctantly, Nick opened the passenger's side door and hopped into the seat. Greg put the car in reverse and then moved into the main lane of the highway. They were each still for a good five minutes, both refusing to be the first one to speak. For once, Nick Stokes and Greg Sanders drove in mutual silence, and neither of them actually wanted to break it.

However, predictably, Greg, who had so many accusations to hurl at his friend, was the first to speak. "What the fuck is your problem? Making me feel like I'm betraying you every time I say a nice thing to Bryce! I'm just trying to help her adjust in a lab full of CSIs who seems to hate her guts! You know, Nick, you used to be a nice guy too. If this were even a year ago, you would have been all over her, volunteering to help her out on cases, or taking her out to lunch and letting her in on the secrets of being a good CSI and how to suck up to Grissom to get the good cases. You shouldn't be such an asshole to her! It's not _her_ fault that Warrick died!"

"Don't you fucking dare bring Warrick into this!" Nick growled furiously, overlapping Greg the moment he heard Warrick's name. "This isn't about Warrick."

"Yes it _is_!" Greg insisted. "It is because you're pissed that I'm being nice to her because you think that she's replaced Warrick. But she hasn't replaced anyone. She's just a young girl who wants to prove herself to you and you won't even say a _thing_ to her. And you make me feel guilty for just _trying_ to be kind."

"Warrick wouldn't have liked her, you know," Nick cut in. "She's too... brash."

"Is this because of the Lindsey thing? Because she told us, she didn't mean to hurt her—"

"It's the Lindsey thing, it's the way she talks on the phone, it's the way she chews gum _constantly_ at a crime scene because it 'helps her think,' it's how she finished my yoghurt in the fridge it's because she flirts with you every time she gets—"

"Well, who else can she flirt with?!" Greg demanded. "No one else gives her the time of day!"

"You flirt _back_," Nick snarled.

Greg was caught off guard by the accusation. "Well, uh... yeah! Is there some reason I shouldn't? She's sweet, and she's hot!"

"Have Sara and Grissom taught you _nothing_?!" Nick cried. "Office romances always fall apart."

"To be fair, Grissom and Sara are still together," Greg pointed out. "She's just not here."

"Look, I just..." Nick seemed to run out of words. "I just think it's unprofessional, that's all."

"Fucking hell, Nick, who _cares_!" Greg groaned as he pulled onto I-15. "_You_ shouldn't! I mean, it's not like you're into her, you _hate_ her by the sound of it, and this isn't the preschool playground so I'm assuming that it's just hate." And then, he thought about it for a moment. "Unless it _isn't_ just hate..."

Nick refused to reply to Greg's unasked question. "I miss him, Greg. A lot."

"You miss him, I miss him, we all _miss_ him, Nick! But taking our frustrations out on his replace—" Uh oh.

"You said it!" Nick yelled. "You called her his replacement!"

"I didn't mean it like _that_," Greg tried to cover. "I meant _professionally_. I mean, let's face it, she _has_ sort of filled in the empty space on the CSI team. But she could never _seriously_ replace Warrick! No one can! And no one should! But you have _got_ to move on, Nick! You're being petty. And I will not feel guilty for doing the right thing."

They were hushed again, and Greg waited for an apology.

But what Nick said next was the farthest thing from an apology Greg had ever heard. "I asked Ecklie to transfer her to another shift."

Greg couldn't help but turn his head to gape at Nick. "_What?!_" he shrieked.

"Greg!" Nick cried, pointing at the road.

When he had turned to Nick, he had moved the steering wheel and his car had glided into the other lane. Greg panicked and swerved to the right, crashing down into a thicket, the car tumbling over in a full circle until the passenger's side rammed itself into a tree, successfully stopping the car in its tracks.

The airbags were deployed and Greg couldn't breathe as he fought the fabric and unbuckled his seatbelt, doing a swift diagnostic of himself to make sure that nothing was bleeding or badly bruised. He had a cut on his forehead, where his head had collided with the window, but he would survive. He blinked and tried to orient himself as he caught his breath and tried to still his heart.

"Nick?" he panted quietly.

The Texan didn't reply.

Greg panicked and looked to his right. The tree had totaled the passenger side door, and the right half of Nick's body was covered in blood. His breathing quickened and he beat back Nick's airbag, climbing up onto his seat.

"Nick?!" he said shrilly, desperately, as he climbed over the gear shift to check on his friend. "Nick!" He couldn't stop saying his name.

Nick's head was lolling onto his chest, with a large bloody gash from his temple to the edge of his jaw line. His temple...

Greg's fingers flew to beneath Nick's chin as he searched for a pulse, breathing, or any signs of life whatsoever. "Nick! Come on, Nick, come _on_!"

There was a heartbeat. This relieved Greg very little. The only way to get to Nick was from the driver's side, and so Greg gingerly climbed over him completely until he was straddling Nick, his knees on either side of Nick's thighs. He took Nick's face in his hands and made the Texan face him. His eyes were closed, his lip was split, and his mouth was open, but Greg could hear his soft breathing.

His heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach and was devoured by the acids.

"Oh God..." he choked, pushing back Nick's hair.

He suddenly seemed to remember his cell phone and he fished it out of his back pocket, dialing 911 immediately.

"There's an accident off of I-15, over by... Aw, fuck, where are we?!" He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He couldn't take his eyes off Nick. "We're just... We're _here_, dammit, just come _here_!" He knew that wasn't helpful.

"Calm down, sir. Take deep breaths. Are you injured?"

"No, no, not me," Greg said rapidly. "My friend, he's bleeding, and I— I don't know what to do." He looked up and saw a nearby onramp. With an exit number! "Exit 342! That's where we are! Help!"

"An ambulance is on its way, sir. Is your friend breathing?"

"Oh God..." Greg whispered. "I don't remember my CPR training!"

"Check to see if your friend is breathing."

"He is," Greg snapped. "I checked that already. He's breathing, he's bleeding, and he's unconscious, alright?"

"Where is he bleeding from?"

Greg's hands hovered over Nick's right side, afraid to touch anything. "I don't know, I don't... I don't want to move him."

Nick groaned and Greg's heart skipped a beat.

"You're going to have to—"

"Fuck you, you can't help me!" Greg yelled at the phone, and then he hung up, throwing his phone to the floor. "Nick? Nick, can you hear me?"

"So sorry, Greg..." Nick muttered as he rolled his head on his shoulders.

"Don't talk like that," Greg said, smiling through his tears. He cupped Nick's cheek and tried to get the Texan to face him again. "Come on, Nick, open your eyes for me."

"Should have just..." Nick mumbled.

"Hush, don't talk," Greg urged. "Don't, just... just hang on. You're losing a lot of blood. An ambulance is on its way."

Nick's eyes fluttered. He moved his left arm, his hand resting on Greg's hip. "Never... didn't want this."

"No one did, Nick," Greg murmured, shaking his head. "This is all my fault. I should have let you drive. I should have…"

Nick's head rolled to the side and he winced in pain. "It burns…"

Greg hushed him again and moved his head to the center. He didn't know why he did it exactly, but he leaned forward and lightly kissed Nick's forehead, willing him to be OK. He felt Nick's hand shake against his hip. He pulled back, stroking Nick's hair and looking out the fractured windows for the ambulance but none was in sight. It had to be there soon. He wished there was something he could do for Nick to sooth him.

Nick coughed suddenly, startling Greg. "I think I'm OK…"

"Don't be stupid, you're covered in blood."

"My arm hurts," Nick whimpered. "Dammit…"

"The ambulance is on its way, Nick, just hold on…" Greg assured him. "And then, everything will be OK."

"I'm sorry about… Bryce…" Nick murmured, closing his eyes. "Greg…" His left arm moved by Greg's side until it found the younger CSI's arm and gripped it tightly. "Greg…"

Greg heard sirens and turned toward them like a bloodhound catching a scent. He placed his hand on top of the one gripping his arm. "You see, Nick? You'll be OK."

Nick's grip slackened on Greg's arm. "I'm fine… just tired…"

"Stupid Nick," Greg laughed.

A paramedic reached through the window. "Are you OK, sir?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Greg said, climbing off of Nick and into the driver's seat. He squeezed Nick's hand to remind him that he was still there. But he had to let go as he stumbled out of the car and let the paramedics do their work.


	2. Unspoken

**_Author's Note:_** First off: I forgot to thank the lovely LaughableBlackStorm for the beta and the input on this story. Silly me. Secondly, I'm trying to stick to canon as much as I possibly can, knowing what I do from the show's past and from spoilers I have read about the show's future. As Bryce is a part of that future, she presents a dilemma for me, characterization wise. I mentioned that last chapter. So if you read this in some point in the future after Bryce's character has been fleshed out, please don't whine to me about how OOC I wrote her. Because I know. Thirdly, Nick/Greg is fun. I deal with some fun themes in this. I mentioned them briefly in the summary. Love triangles, sure. Action/angst, definitely. Soul-searching, and discovering who you are as a person, though, is probably my biggest theme. It comes up a lot.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

He had been sitting in that tiny waiting room for what seemed like years before the others showed up. His hands were clasped between his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn't look up when he heard them enter, but he did at Catherine's gasp.

"Oh Greg, sweetie…" she said softly, rushing over to him. "Are you OK?" She tried to touch his forehead, where a bandage covered his gash, but he recoiled.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he murmured, though it was a lie. He looked past her to see Grissom standing in the doorway like a statue, and he was suddenly drenched in guilt all over again.

And then, Bryce pushed her way past him and ran to Greg's other side. Catherine glanced at her casually, but reserved the dirty looks for later. Bryce clasped Greg's hand and kissed it gently.

"Thank God you're OK!"

But Greg didn't _feel_ OK. Not with Nick in a hospital bed. He pulled his hand out of Bryce's grip.

"How's Nick?" Grissom asked quietly.

Greg provided them with a half shrug. "Doctors say he's gonna pull through. Dunno what's going on with him now, though. Something about stitches. Said he lost lots of blood. Needs to recuperate."

Grissom nodded. "Bryce is right. Thank God you're OK."

"I need some air…" Greg said, suddenly standing up and brushing both Bryce and Catherine away. He moved swiftly past Grissom and into the hall, then out the doors to the smoking area balcony. He leaned over it and took a deep breath, but all he inhaled was stale tobacco. He didn't much care. It wasn't air he needed, it was space. He had to get out of that cramped room, away from his friends. He felt like they were stifling him. He felt like Grissom had been accusing him.

_God_, he wished he had been the one to hit that tree and not Nick. But God had nothing to do with it. It had all been physics. The car spun once, and it probably wouldn't have stopped without that tree. He should have let Nick drive. He shouldn't have yelled at him about moving on. Nick's best friend was dead and all Greg could do was accuse him of being mean to Warrick's replacement. _What a good friend I turned out to be,_ Greg thought miserably.

He heard the door behind him open and turned to see who it was. Bryce closed the door behind her and showed him a pack of cigarettes like a talisman.

"I swear I'm not following you," she promised as she took out a cigarette. She delicately held the thing between her lips as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a lighter. She inhaled and let out an agitated smoky sigh. "Rough night."

"Tell me about it…" Greg mumbled. "Can I have one of those?"

"I didn't know you smoked," Bryce said with a smirk.

"I don't yet," Greg replied. "Just give me one."

She chuckled. "Now, now. I don't want to be the girl who hooked you on cigarettes. This isn't high school, and I'm not peer pressuring you." Nevertheless, she handed him one and he played with it between his fingers.

He laughed. "You know, when I was fifteen, my friend gave me a pack of these as a gag gift because he knew I'd never smoke 'em. I wasn't exactly known as the bad boy in school, if you know what I mean. He liked to tease me about that… You know, like a friend does, nothing mean or anything. Anyways, I was looking at them one day when my folks were still at work and I decided to try one out. I thought it was disgusting and I tried to flush the rest down the toilet, you know, like you see them do in the movies when they try to quit? Only, I flushed the box, too, and it got stuck. Water all over the bathroom floor! I tried to get it out with the plunger and then my folks showed up. Mom could smell it on my breath, so it was no use telling her they weren't mine. I was grounded for three months." As if to spite his parents, he put the cigarette between his lips and favored Bryce with a lopsided smile. "Got a light?" he muttered, feeling somewhat like John Wayne with a toothpick in his mouth.

She grinned and leaned forward with her lighter, her hand cupping the flame as if it were sacred and fragile. It didn't light right away, so she said, "You've gotta inhale, hon."

He rolled his eyes, but did what she said and the tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange. He took it away from his mouth and made a strange face as he exhaled. He coughed only a little.

"You sure you haven't done this before?" Bryce asked sarcastically.

"Shut up, I like having healthy lungs, thank you very much," he returned.

They both snickered. "I like it when you're laughing," Bryce told him.

"I like _you_, plain and simple," Greg replied, taking another drag off his cigarette.

She said nothing, only nodded, then turned outward toward the stars.

"What, no 'I like you too?'" Greg asked, egging her on.

She was smiling as she leaned on the stone railing and stared outward, into the dark. "I like the way you kiss," she said finally, casting him a sidelong look.

_Oh yeah,_ Greg thought. _That._ "I don't want to talk about that…" Greg muttered, folding his arms.

"Nick'll be OK, you'll see," Bryce assured him. "When else are we going to discuss it?"

"When Nick _is_ OK," Greg returned. "For sure OK. I can't think about you and him at the same time. Too many crazy thoughts running around in my head."

"I don't know what you see in him…" Bryce muttered, ashing her cigarette over the railing.

"You should have seen him a year ago," Greg told her with a smile. "A year ago, we were happy. All of us. A year ago, Sara was here, and Warrick was alive, and Nick was a better person. We were all better people."

"Hard to imagine," Bryce cooed. "You as a better person."

She extinguished her cigarette and moved closer to Greg, pressing up against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're so amazing," she breathed.

To his astonishment, Greg felt obscenely uncomfortable in her embrace. He pushed her away and dropped his half-smoked cigarette to the floor before stomping on it. "Cancer sticks anyway, I shouldn't be breathing that," he said to her hastily, and then quickly made his way to the door, leaving Bryce mystified.

Greg shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled down the white hallways, the smell of ammonia infiltrating his nostrils as he tried to chase away the bugs scrambling around under his skin. He rubbed his arms to warm away the goose bumps before he saw Nick's doctor.

"You're free to see him if you like," the doctor said. "He's perfectly fine. He had a gash on his stomach where a sharp part of the door had cut into him, and his arm is broken, but within a week or so, he'll be able to walk around and get back to work."

"He was covered in blood…" Greg muttered.

"Trust me, things looked worse than they were. He may be slightly disoriented. He had a minor concussion." The doctor gestured at Nick's room. "I was just about to tell your other friends that they could go in and talk with him."

"Could I have a minute first, if you don't mind?" Greg asked.

The doctor nodded and smiled, understanding. "I'll wait five minutes before I let them know."

"Thanks," Greg muttered appreciatively, and clutched the doorknob of the room. The metal was icy beneath his sweaty palm, and his bones locked into place, refusing to move. He took a deep breath and forced his wrist to rotate and push the door open.

Nick was hunched over a tray eating Jell-O from a cup, looking as content as could be... except for the fact that he was having difficulty keeping the cup from moving with only one hand. He stabbed at the squiggly goo relentlessly before noticing Greg and stopping. His eyes darted around the tray before he found a second Jell-O cup. He gestured at it with his spoon.

"Jell-O?" he offered.

A smile of relief flooded Greg's features as he relaxed. Even though the doctors had told him that Nick would be perfectly fine, he hadn't believed them until he saw Nick for himself.

"No thanks," he said, moving closer to the bed.

Nick shrugged, then turned his attentions back to his own Jell-O cup. "Suit yourself," he said. He tried to scoop up more Jell-O as the cup scooted across the tray. Greg reached out and held it in place for him. Nick looked up at him and smiled appreciatively before shoving the spoon in his mouth.

"I'm really sorry, Nick…" Greg said at last. "That was cold, the way I talked about Warrick."

"You were kinda right though, weren't you?" Nick muttered, still focusing on the Jell-O. "I shouldn't be so hard on Bryce."

"Does it hurt?" Greg asked timidly, eying Nick's plastered arm.

Nick shrugged with his right shoulder. "Eh," he said, avoiding a real answer as he took another bite of Jell-O.

"They said… they had to stitch up your side," Greg said slowly.

"Yeah, that bothers me more than the arm," Nick muttered, looking up at the ceiling.

"Doc says you should be OK to walk around in about a week," Greg said. "That's a pretty fast recovery."

"I told you I was fine," Nick mumbled as he finished the last of the Jell-O. He reached for the second cup and tried to open it with his thumb and forefinger. Greg watched him struggle a moment, before taking the cup and opening it for him.

For the first time, Nick's eyes were on Greg as his hands fumbled with the cup. "There," Greg said, putting the cup down for him. But Nick's eyes didn't leave Greg's face. "What?" he asked.

"Do you really like her?" Nick whispered. "I mean… Because if you do, that's OK. You're right, what you do with your personal life is none of my business anyway."

"Are we talking about Bryce?" Greg asked. "Because… Well… I don't know what I'm going to do about her. I'd rather not talk about her, actually." He took a seat by Nick's bed. "I'd rather talk about you."

Nick was visibly uncomfortable as he shifted in his bed. "What about me?" he inquired innocently enough.

"I miss you," Greg admitted.

"I haven't gone anywhere," Nick said with a smirk.

"Yes you have," Greg argued. "And I want you to come back. I appreciate that you just lost your best friend. I realize that you have got to be more torn up about it than I can even imagine. But it's been happening since before Warrick. Before Bryce. I just want to know what's going on with you, man."

Nick bit his lip. "Greg, I—"

The door to his room opened and Nick stopped himself as Grissom appeared, followed by Catherine. Catherine smiled. "Hey, Nicky…"

And all of a sudden, Greg felt the tremendous pressure weighing down on his shoulders that he had felt before in the waiting room. He rose quickly to his feet and nodded at Catherine and Grissom politely. "I have… things to do…" he murmured, and as was becoming his trademark, he made a swift and mysterious exit.

* * *

A week later, Nick was discharged, and doctors said he was free to go back to work. Nick called Greg to pick him up, and the younger CSI was mildly surprised at his actions.

"I didn't think you'd want me here," he confessed, as he pushed Nick's wheelchair into the hospital elevator and hit the parking level.

"Why not?" Nick inquired, curiously.

"I don't know, I thought maybe you'd still be mad at me or something," Greg said with a shrug.

"Greg, about that…" Nick said slowly. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve all that bullshit. I was… _am_…" He searched for the words. "Upset."

"Define 'upset,'" Greg said slowly.

Nick laughed, then winced. "I wish I could."

"You have a right to be… upset…" Greg said slowly. "I pushed you. That was my fault." The doors opened, and Greg pushed Nick out and into the garage. "You OK to walk now?"

"I've been OK to walk from the room, but I was kinda enjoying this," Nick said teasingly.

Greg came around to the front of the wheelchair and offered Nick his hand, which the Texan gladly took. Greg pulled Nick up and out of the wheelchair, where Nick stumbled and Greg grabbed his shoulders to steady him. They were eye to eye.

"You're stronger than you look," Nick breathed.

Greg swore he could hear Nick's heart beating rapidly, or perhaps it was his own. He was suddenly immensely uncomfortable and tried to laugh it off, ducking his head down. "Yeah, well I…" He stopped, then looked up at Nick out of the corner of his eyes. Nick laughed and put his left hand on Greg's shoulder. Greg felt the warm weight of it, and for some reason was glad that it was there.

And then, suddenly, he knew what he needed to do.

Greg's arms slid around Nick's waist and up his back as he pulled him into a strong hug, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as Nick returned the embrace. "I'm so glad you're OK…"

It felt right in Nick's one-armed embrace. More right than he felt in Bryce's arms, or anyone else's for that matter.

He pulled away and their faces were inches apart again. They were each silent as they looked at each other momentarily, daring to imagine what the other was thinking, but neither of them voicing their own thoughts. Nick opened his mouth and took a breath and Greg tensed, his breath caught in his throat, waiting to hear whatever Nick had to say, unsure of why he felt those words would be so important to him, but then…

"Where's your car?"

"Oh…" Greg said, his shoulders slumping as he pulled away from Nick, seeming to come back to himself. "Right, uh… yeah, so… You gonna go home or… I mean, you can stay with me if you want. I got, like… a guest bedroom… I guess it's more of a closet, but—"

"Thanks, Greg, but I think I'll just home," Nick said with a smile.

"Right," Greg said, nodding rapidly. Even though he hadn't spoken a word, he felt as if he had said something wrong. "Um… yeah, it's over here."

He led Nick over to the car and opened the passenger's side door for him and helped him into the seat. He noticed it was difficult for Nick to bend at the waist, probably because of his wound. Greg scrambled over to the driver's side and climbed in, putting his hands on the wheel and turning the key in the ignition. He looked over at Nick and had an alarming sense of déjà vu. He shook it off and backed out of the parking space. Turning to look behind him out of the car, his hand brushed Nick's. Greg wasn't too sure why his senses were hyper-aware of every contact he made with Nick, but pushed it to the back of his mind.

When they drove out of the garage and saw daylight, Nick finally spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

Greg didn't know why he could suddenly hear the blood rushing in his ears. "Uh huh," he said casually. He glanced at Nick and saw him smirk.

"Is it true that you told the 911 op to fuck off?"

That was random. "What?!"

"Last week," Nick clarified. "Paramedic told me that some crazy rude guy called in the accident and cussed out a 911 operator. Why'd you do that?"

Greg tried to recall the conversation but failed. "I don't know, I guess I was scared." He had a sudden flash of the woman's words in his mind and scowled. "And she wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I don't think I told her to fuck off though… I think I just said 'fuck you.' That's different, isn't it?"

Nick chuckled. "Not by much," he replied.

They made small talk until Greg pulled up outside of Nick's apartment. By the time they arrived, his nerves had calmed down a bit, leaving him only to wonder at why he had been so on edge in the first place. Greg shifted into park and then looked over at Nick with a tired smile. "Need help getting in?"

Nick shook his head slightly. "Nah. Can't really climb stairs, but lucky for me I live on the first floor."

"You coming into work tomorrow?" Greg inquired as Nick slowly got out of the car. "Uh, do you need any—"

Nick held up a hand, stopping Greg in his tracks. "I'm not an invalid, I can do this."

"Actually—"

"I'm _fine_, Greg," Nick insisted and got out of the car. He hesitated and looked back in at Greg. "I…"

There it was again. That tension that seemed to sweep through Greg's body like a disease. "You what?"

His eyes strayed over to the corners, a hazy, faraway look to them. He blinked, shook his head, and smiled. "Never mind," he said, shrugging it off. "Thanks for the ride."

"See you tomorrow?" Greg asked.

"I guess," Nick called as he shut the door. Greg watched his retreating back until he was inside. And once again, he was left alone in a silent car, his thoughts permanently dwelling on Nick Stokes.


	3. Jump

**_Author's Note:_** Hm... Well, I didn't expect this story to be super popular among my usual crowd of readers, so I suppose that's reflected in the lack of reviews. Still, I'm about five chapters ahead of myself, so I might as well keep it up. Thanks to those of you who are R&Ring and LaughableBlackStorm of course, for the beta and input. And Kegel, for helping me work out a particularly confusing part much later on. Also, as of this chapter I am raising the rating. Why? Because I realized it gets worse later on. I don't think it's "M-worthy" necessarily, but just to be safe... If anyone has issue with this, well, then, I just guess you'll stop reading. Since the majority of you haven't been reviewing anyway, I won't notice and that'll be your loss, not mine. :o) Thanks to 101spacemonkey and Mma63 for your lovely thoughts on last chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Nick's work was somehow hindered by his broken arm, as he was right handed, but he did what he could. Watching him, Greg was reminded of how Sara had worked so skillfully with her broken arm. Nick was much less graceful than Sara had been, however, fumbling everything. Greg supposed Sara was just more ambidextrous than Nick was.

As a result, all of his assignments were with either Greg, Catherine or Grissom, so one of them could help him out in the collection of evidence and other things that required two hands. Still, his mind was as sharp as ever, and as he was often relegated to surveying the scene or the perimeter, his eyes caught much more than any of the CSIs he was partnered with.

It was his last day with the cast when for some reason unbeknownst to any of them, Grissom decided to partner Nick with Bryce. Both of them blinked when he announced it at the top of their shift. Catherine and Greg exchanged looks.

"I'm sorry…" Bryce said slowly. Her eyes darted nervously to Nick, then back to Grissom, who was already looking over the other cases. "I mean… I don't mean to be… But shouldn't Nick maybe be with Catherine or something?" She seemed to get an idea, and became more confident. "I'm sure Greg and I could handle—"

"Nope, I said you're with Nick," Grissom replied simply, as if he didn't understand the problem.

Bryce's mouth open and closed like a goldfish. "I can go solo—"

"Bryce," Grissom interrupted. "You're both fine CSIs. Nick needs a hand collecting evidence and you need to learn a little bit more about observation."

"With all due respect, I'm pretty good with observation," Bryce said, slightly passive aggressive as she gave him a snide smile.

"Nick, do you have a problem with this?" Grissom asked.

Nick looked like he was caught off guard. "Um…" He looked at Bryce. "Well… I guess not…" he said slowly. "But Griss, you know that Bryce and I… We don't exactly make the best team."

"You can if you try," Grissom replied, his intentions becoming clearer with every word.

"Uh oh…" Catherine muttered under her breath, so only Greg could hear.

"I can do this if you can," Nick said, turning to Bryce. All eyes were on her now, and she looked a little startled.

"Uh… Yeah. OK." She nodded, she even smiled. "We can do this. Right, Nick?"

Nick smiled at her, then glanced at Greg. "Yeah."

"Good, I'm glad that's settled," Grissom said. "Catherine, you have a 426 up in Henderson."

Catherine winced at the number, then nodded. "I can handle that," she said quietly, and then exited.

"And Greg, you have a 415 outside of the Flamingo," Grissom said. "Brass is on the scene, he can fill you in."

"Got it," Greg said, and turned around and left, leaving Nick and Bryce alone with Grissom.

* * *

Nick snapped a photograph of the body and stood back, giving room for Bryce to kneel down beside the corpse as she snapped on her gloves.

"David said TOD was about an hour ago," Nick told her.

"She died running," Bryce muttered as she noted the position of the girl's body. "Check it out, her arm is outstretched. As if she were reaching for something…" Bryce rose to her feet and pointed right and walked over there. "She came from here…" She walked left to a strange blood pattern on the concrete. "Fell to her knees here…" She walked a little further. "And to her hands here… She crawled a bit before she couldn't go any further."

"If she was running, then her attacker couldn't be much taller than her," Nick noted. "Check out the angle of the entry wound."

Bryce nodded, then looked up and smiled at Nick. "We are pretty good at this, aren't we?"

He returned the smile and nodded at her approvingly. His eyes drifted up to the victim's outstretched hand. "So what was she reaching for?" He walked a little past her head until he found a small, wooden box. He picked it up with his good hand and made to open it.

"You might want me to open that," Bryce advised.

"I can do it," Nick muttered, fumbling with the clasp with his thumb.

"I know you _can_, but it'll be better if I _do_," Bryce tried again. "You know, in case something's in there that's fragile."

"I'll be careful," Nick assured her.

Bryce bit her tongue, afraid to say anything to cross him. She wanted them to get along. If she won Nick over, then all she had to worry about was Catherine. But just as he opened the clasp, his grip slipped and the box tumbled to the ground, with Bryce and her quick instincts going down with it. Nick stepped back as the box crashed and a white powder erupted into the air, making Bryce, who was closest to the substance, start coughing.

Nick leaped back, fearing a biological contamination and immediately called out for help, placing his hand over his nose and mouth as Bryce continued to cough. He asked if she was OK.

"I'm fine…" she said. She sat up and blinked rapidly before shaking her head. "Wow!"

"What is it?" Nick demanded.

"I don't know…" she said. "But suddenly, I am _wide_ awake!"

"What is it?!" Vartann cried as he jogged over to them. "What's going on?"

Bryce started laughing as she slowly rose to her feet and stumbled on the spot. "Oh God… Now I feel dizzy."

Vartann seized her by the arm and pulled her to the side. "Your pupils are the size of quarters!"

"Quarters!" Bryce laughed. "Oh wow… Seriously! You guys wanna go out for some coffee? I could use some coffee. I like coffee. Ice coffee! Let's get ice coffee! Come on, Nick, we're friends now, we can go out for coffee!"

"Is she high?" Nick exclaimed.

Vartann looked at the white substance that had settled on the ground. "She's on crack."

She seemed fascinated by this revelation. "Oh, wow, really?!" She blinked again and looked down at the powder. "Technically, that's not crack. Crack is crystallized. That's just cocaine." If possible, her eyes widened even further. "Oh my God, I inhaled cocaine!"

Vartann sighed. "She'll be fine in an hour or two," he told Nick. "We'll have to log this in with narcotics and explain how this happened so she doesn't get written up for it."

Nick nodded. "Maybe I should take her somewhere else…"

"Yes!" Bryce cried excitedly. "Are we going for coffee?"

"Do you know where she lives?" Vartann asked.

Nick shrugged and shook his head. "No clue."

"Just take her back to the lab then," Vartann suggested. "She should be safe there."

"So no coffee? That's OK, I'm not that thirsty anyways. You have a really colorful shirt," she noted, staring at Nick.

He rolled his eyes and took her by the arm. "Come on, Bryce, I'll get you back to the lab," he said.

"Can't we go somewhere more fun?" she asked, talking a mile a minute. "I want to… I dunno, BASE jump off of the Stratosphere! Hell _yeah_, that would be _awesome_!"

"Maybe tomorrow, when you're feeling better," Nick muttered, humoring her.

"But I feel great!" she protested as he helped her into the passenger seat of the car. "I feel amazing, actually, I'm so… Wow!" She reached out and grabbed Nick's hand, putting it over her breast. "Feel that? I've never felt my heart beat so fast!"

"Uh, yeah…" Nick said, taking his hand back. "That's not a good thing, babe."

She giggled. "You think I'm a babe!"

He frowned. "It's… an expression…"

"That's fantastic, I consider it a compliment, thank you!" Bryce said rapidly.

Nick nodded, a little bemused as he closed her door, moved for the driver's side and climbed in. She was still chatting away as he took the wheel.

"I mean, he's really adorable, you know? Like a teddy bear, I just want to squeeze him so tightly and let him comfort me as I fall asleep. I dunno, maybe you don't know, I don't really know how guys think, I mean, and you of all people, I never know what _you_ think, Nick Stokes, Mr. Stokes, the incredible CSI Stokes who everyone loves but me, because—why?— because you don't like me either, and I find it hard to like someone who doesn't like me— you know?— although, I've tried, because they say you're a good guy, so I've tried, I really have, to like you, you know, to get you to like me, but you seem to—"

"Who's like a teddy bear?" Nick interrupted, lost in the rest of her rambling.

She blinked. "What? Oh. Greg. Greg is very teddy-ish, don't you think?"

"Uh…" Nick began.

"Well, of course _you_ don't think so!" Bryce laughed. "You don't see him like I do."

"Right…" Nick mumbled, suddenly overly irritated by the enthusiastic girl next to him.

"We have a date tomorrow!" Bryce chimed. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe I totally forgot all about that until just now! It's our first official date, you know, outside of the lab, but he's been working up to it for weeks—"

"He _has_?!" Nick blurted suddenly.

She nodded. "Yeah, he was a little nervous at first, it was adorable. I think he was thrown by that kiss we had, you know, our first one, the one you saw in the hall. Our only one, as of yet, but I expect that'll change after tomorrow. I'm super excited, super crazy excited, like, BASE jumping off the Stratosphere excited—"

"Bryce, I don't know if you and Greg should see each other…"

"Why not, because you hate me?!" Bryce snapped, suddenly accusatory. "Well _you're_ not dating me, so I don't see why it's any of your _business_."

Nick ground his teeth, trying his best to hold onto his patience. "_Greg_ is my business," he growled. "I have a right to look out for him."

"It's not like we're getting _married_, OK, so just chill out!" Bryce shrieked, her voice rising as she became more agitated. "It's just a _date_."

"But if things go sour—"

"You don't know if they will!" Bryce protested as Nick pulled into a parking place outside of the lab. He got out of the car and helped her out. "You have no idea what will happen! Hell, _I_ have no idea what will happen, could happen, might happen— I love dreaming about what a first date will be like! They're always the craziest fun, don't you think?" She was smiling again, charming, sweet, and her drug-induced mood swings were really beginning to grate on Nick's nerves.

"Look," he said through gritted teeth as they entered the lab. "If you two break up, then what friends will you have in the lab?"

"What do you mean?" she chimed. "I have you now, don't I? We're friends now, right?"

Nick winced and finally turned on her. "We are _not_ friends. We will never _be_ friends. I will cooperate with you in a professional capacity, but to be brutally honest, you drive me _insane_, and sometimes I just want to _throttle_ you! You will _never_ be good enough to me, understand? No matter what you do, you will remain that airheaded annoying bitch in the low-cut blouses that's trying to date her coworker who _isn't even interested in her_ and making a fool of herself!"

For the first time since she inhaled the cocaine, Bryce was stunned into silence. And then, her face contorted into the most furious expression she could muster as she slugged Nick hard across the face.

"ADAMS!" Ecklie's scream ripped through the air and rang in her head as Nick recovered from the blow. "In my office, NOW!"

She looked at Nick for a moment, who heard her heavy breathing, before stomping off down the hall to follow Ecklie's command.

* * *

As Greg had been out on his assault case, he had missed out on the fiasco in the lab between Nick and Bryce, and remained oblivious of the incident until the next day, when Bryce Adams stormed into the break room and threw open the fridge. She seemed to search it for something, growled, and then slammed the fridge shut. She looked up at the ceiling and let out a small, helpless sob before burying her face in her hands.

Greg, who had been sorting through crime photos of his scene over at the table, rose to his feet to comfort her. He slid his arm around his shoulders and she turned to him and buried her face in the nape of his neck. "What's going on?"

She pulled away and sniffed, blinking away her tears as she shook her head. "I've been suspended," she replied. "And on top of that, I have the absolute worst head ache in the world."

"What?!" Greg exclaimed. "Why?"

"What do you mean '_why'_?" Bryce cried. "Because of what happened yesterday, that's _why_. Because of your best friend Nick who ruined _everything_!"

Greg was baffled. "What happened yesterday?"

She rolled her eyes and squirmed. "I don't know, I… I'm not so sure, I mean, it's all a bit of a daze, but I _do_ remember what he said. And _he's_ the one that dropped the cocaine in the first place! I _told_ him to give me the damn box but he wouldn't _listen_. And then he said those things and _I'm_ the one who gets suspended?!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Greg said quickly. "Back up. Slow down. What cocaine? What did Nick say?"

And Bryce told him the whole story, or at least what she could remember of it, until she came to the part when Nick had yelled at her. "And _I_ thought we were getting along so well, too, but then he just snaps and he…" She swallowed. "I can't even say it."

He pushed her hair back from her wet face. "What'd he say?" he cooed.

She shook her head. "Well, it was enough to make me hit him, wasn't it? If I wasn't on coke, I might have been able to handle it better, but as the facts stand, I was a little low on impulse control."

"What did he say?" Greg pressed.

"Basically… that we'd never be friends. That I wasn't good enough for him. That I was an annoying bitch with…" She tugged at her T-shirt. "Low cut blouses who… tho's throwing herself at someone who isn't interested."

Greg's jaw was set and he said in a low tone, "Did you tell this to Ecklie?"

"He didn't _care_!" Bryce cried. "He just said that I shouldn't be in the lab if I was on drugs, and that there is no excuse good enough to punch a coworker in the office. But it was _Nick_ who brought me here in the first place! Greg, I don't know what to do. Nick's right, outside of you, I have no real friends here. But I'm not the kind of person to just give up and move. I don't want to be intimidated but…" She let out another sob. "I don't think I can make our date tonight."

Greg nodded. "Have a seat, Bryce. Calm down, OK? I think there's some donuts left in that box, go ahead and have some." He made his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" she called timidly.

"To talk to Nick," Greg replied simply.

Greg walked briskly down the halls, looking in all the labs and layout rooms for his query. Finally, he stumbled upon the Texan in the locker room as he pulled on a button up shirt and was about to begin buttoning it. Greg interrupted him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Greg hissed, closing the door to the locker room behind him.

Nick looked up and blinked a few times, his shirt hanging open. "What?"

"Who says that kind of thing to _anyone_, let alone a girl on coke?!" Greg demanded.

"Oh…" Nick sighed, realizing what Greg was talking about. "That."

Greg moved closer, irritated. "_Yes_, that!" he growled. "What the hell else?"

Nick rolled his eyes and closed his locker, turning to face Greg properly. "OK, look, I'm sorry I exploded like that, and it wasn't the best time, but I meant what I said."

"I don't care if you _meant_ it or not, I care that you _said_ it at all!" Greg exclaimed. "She was high on crack!"

"Actually, it was powder, so to be fair it was cocaine," Nick pointed out.

"Oh yeah, big difference," Greg muttered sarcastically. His tone shifted to one of disappointment. "I know you don't like her. But some of the things you said to her were just damn mean."

This tone seemed to bother Nick more than Greg's anger and he squirmed under Greg's gaze. "Well… I'll apologize, OK?"

"Not OK," Greg insisted. "Talk to Ecklie. Tell him it was your fault."

"How do you know it was?" Nick demanded. "Don't you want to hear _my_ side of the story before jumping to conclusions?"

"Let me see…" Greg said slowly. "Did you drop the box of cocaine when she _asked_ you to give it to her?"

He seemed surprised. "Well— yes, but—"

"And did _you_ drive her back to the lab?"

"Yes—"

"And did you, when she asked if the two of you were friends, turn on her and call her an annoying bitchy slut throwing herself at men?"

Nick held up a finger. "Technically, I never said—"

"Yes or no, Nick," Greg interrupted sharply.

Nick swallowed. "Yes."

"Then what part of the story am I leaving out?"

Nick avoided Greg's gaze. "OK, you didn't hear what she was babbling about—"

"Is this about the date we had tonight?" Greg asked suddenly. "Because I thought we were past this, Nick. That's none of your business."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing!" Greg interjected. "You have no excuse, Nick! It's my life! And I like this girl."

"Do you?" Nick inquired.

Greg was flabbergasted. "What?! Of course I do!" He thought about it a moment. "I think I do. I mean, that's what dates are for, aren't they?"

Nick smiled and took a step closer to Greg. "Honestly. Do you see yourselves together as a couple?"

"I… I don't know. It's just one date, Nick! And I don't need to defend myself to you!"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Whatever…" he muttered, and turned to leave. Greg, forgetting his recent handicap, seized Nick's newly recovered arm and pulled him backwards, slamming him against the locker and pinning him there with one hand on either side of his head.

Nick stared back at him wide-eyed, both of their breathing heavy as their hearts raced to catch up with their thoughts. "You're stronger than you look…" Nick muttered.

Greg said nothing, but simply stared back at Nick as he caught his breath and then, suddenly, as if someone had pushed him, he found himself seeking out Nick's lips and they locked onto each other, fiercely, furiously, and ferociously. He was mildly surprised at the intensity with which Nick returned his fury, but his mind was far behind his impulses, and so it wasn't a conscious concern as he fell into the moment headfirst. Nick moved with him, his hands entangling themselves in Greg's hair until both of them seemed to come back into their right minds and broke apart as instantly as they had fallen together.

Greg stared at Nick as if he were a mutant from the sewers, and Nick stared back with perplexity written across his face. There were no words. There was nothing left in their conversation. And so, not knowing what else to do, Greg fled, slamming the door to the locker room behind him.


	4. Men

**_Author's Note:_** Wow... a little wallowing on my part and you all responded with a vengeance! Or maybe it was the kiss I finally broke down and wrote last chapter... ;o) Well, this is a bit of a short one, but I should be updating daily now. I'm far enough ahead to be very comfortable with that, and unlike my other stories as of late there shouldn't be any delay. Keep up the reviews! I love hearing your thoughts! Also, I'm glad (and mildly surprised) that you folks like the way I like Bryce. Very glad. And I'm also flattered that one of you (Coldbone) was reminded of Deb-- I _adore_ "Dexter" and take that as a compliment. Deb is a complicated character, and I can see how you'd make that connection. And Deb has a mouth on her similar to Bryce, as we'll discover later.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Greg sat on the curb of the parking lot with his hands raked in his hair as he rested his elbows on his knees. He shivered, though the air was warm, and for some reason wished for a cigarette. Bryce would have been a welcome sight, if only because she came with cancer sticks and a lighter.

But it was not Bryce who sat down next to him on that curb, and nor was it anyone that he had expected. He heard her sigh and wondered vaguely if he was dreaming.

"Stars are bright tonight," she observed.

"Go away," Greg murmured.

"I just got here," she returned. "And already, I see you falling apart. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he cried, believing that nothing that had happened that day could possibly be real. "I'm having a twisted nightmare. One that's taunting me with everything I want and don't want to happen in my life right now."

"Ah," she said. "And where do I fall into in this nightmare?"

"I don't want you to be here…" Greg whispered. "Go away. You're in my dreams far too often. And you don't have any cigarettes, so you're useless to me."

A box with a cigarette sticking out suddenly appeared before Greg's vision, but he didn't look at the hand that offered it. "See? I ask and I shall receive."

"Didn't know you were a smoker," she said. "Is that a nasty habit you've picked up while I was gone?"

"I thought you quit," he returned, snidely.

He heard her laugh, but there was no mirth in it. "I thought I quit a lot of things… Like this place. I thought I could stay away but just like smoking, you never really quit it. You just have year-long breaks."

Finally, Greg sat up and looked at her for the first time. She was staring up at the sky, her hands lightly clasped in her lap, her soft brown hair hanging over her ears. She looked beautiful in the starlight and a pale glow seemed to emanate her, as if she were a ghost.

"What are you doing here, Sara?" he asked. "I haven't seen you since Warrick…"

"I know," she said. "I couldn't stay away. Something about death and corpses is gravitational. I couldn't escape its pull. Plus, Grissom called and said he could use some help, now that your new hire has been suspended."

"So you came all the way from California to fill in for a few weeks?" Greg asked.

She turned to him and favored him with her classic Sara smirk. "Good excuse, isn't it? I was looking for one. You gonna smoke that?"

Greg looked down at the cigarette in his hand and played with it. "I kinda like just holding it."

She sighed with relief. "Good. Because I would have been very disappointed if you'd really taken up smoking. You're too good for that shit."

Greg heaved a large sigh. "You're not really here, are you?"

She frowned. "Greg, are you feeling OK?"

"No…" he admitted. "I'm feeling… I think I just… I should have hit Nick, just like Bryce did, but instead I think I kissed him."

Sara was silent at this confession.

He turned to find her staring at her knees. "What, no wonderful words of wisdom from the Great Sara Sidle?"

She shrugged. "Did you _want_ to kiss him?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I think it has to do with _everything_, Greg. So did you _want_ to kiss him?"

"No, of course I didn't!" Greg declared. "I mean, he's _Nick_, for God's sake! He's the _last_ person I'd want to… to kiss! I'd kiss _you_ before I'd kiss _him_! And _least_ of all now, after what he said to Bryce!"

Sara nodded as she tried to come up with the right words to say. "You know why he did it," she surmised.

"Why he did what?" Greg snapped.

"Why he said those things to Bryce," she explained. "Why he's been so cold whenever you flirt with her. Why he was mad at you. Why he's been acting odd. And when you heard what he said to Bryce, it only cemented what you'd already expected. He was jealous."

"Fuck that, he wasn't _jealous_!" Greg said suddenly. "How do you know all this anyway?"

"I'm the Great Sara Sidle, remember?" she said as she cocked her eyebrow. "All of these things told you what you didn't want to admit to yourself about Nick. And what's worse, you found yourself reciprocating. And instead of talk about it, you'd fight about it, until it all cumulated into that angry kiss you shared in the locker room."

"Never before have my dreams made so much sense…" Greg muttered.

"I never said this was a dream," Sara pointed out.

"Please," Greg murmured, rolling his eyes. "Like you had to."

She smiled and leaned towards him, delicately kissing his forehead like a big sister proud of her little brother. "I guess the important question now is… when you wake up, will you remember what I said?"

* * *

The heinous, grating buzzing cut across the surface of his consciousness like a jet ski, making violent waves behind his closed eyelids and he turned around and slammed the snooze button. He opened his eyes, and Sara's face was fresh in his mind, though he wasn't sure why.

All of a sudden, the reality of the night before came flooding back to him and he stared at the ceiling, horrified.

_What the hell _was_ that_?! he asked himself.

What was wrong with him? Because Greg knew there _had_ to be something wrong with him if he had really kissed Nick. He had never been against gays his whole life, but _being_ one was another story entirely. He wasn't gay. He couldn't be. He was going on a date with Bryce. Eventually. He had always, always, _always_ only ever been attracted to women. Always. Without exception.

_But no woman had ever kissed so well..._

Greg emitted a slew of obscenities to drown out the nagging thoughts drifting around inside of his skull. Nick was his friend. Nick was his _best_ friend, though for some reason Greg was terrified of admitting that to Nick's face. He always had been. Nick and Warrick had been a dynamic duo. When Greg hung out with them, he always felt like the third wheel. He recalled how Warrick had flipped out after Nick had been kidnapped. Warrick had refused to give up, had even refused to leave Nick alone for a second time when they pulled him out from under the ground. Greg remembered the concern Nick confessed he had for Warrick in the months leading up to his death. He remembered Nick's fury when he learned of Warrick's pill habits. But mostly, he remembered how they were when things weren't all going to hell. They had joked and jostled each other, going out for drinks every Thursday night. Sometimes they'd invite Greg, or Catherine, or Sara, or Grissom... But most of the time, it was just the two of them. Best friends.

And so, of course, Greg could never admit to Nick who _his_ best friend was. Nick had always been fond of Greg, but he never realized how few friends the younger CSI had outside of the lab. And it was for that reason that Greg had instead focused on befriending Sara. Until she abandoned him and the rest of them to sort out her problems. Greg had always been bitter at Sara for that. He had always thought that they had been good enough friends, and that he could have helped her work through it.

And now... After Greg had lost Sara and Nick had lost Warrick, Greg found himself kissing Nick in the locker room.

He needed to get his head examined. He needed to do _something_. He needed to snap out of this nightmare and return to reality, where he wasn't Nick's best friend, though Nick was his, and where he didn't want to kiss Nick again, and where Sara was gone and not whispering the truth in his ear, and where he was going to go on a date with Bryce.

Bryce...

Greg made a dive for his cell phone on his bedside table and immediately dialed her number.

"Hey, girl!" he said excitedly. "What are you doing right now?... Perfect! How about you come over and I'll make you some dinner?"

* * *

Greg's hands trembled as he handled the pan, grilling the steaks and glancing at the clock. Bryce would be here in fifteen minutes and he hadn't even finished the steaks, let alone the potatoes. It had been a long time since he had cooked for anyone other than himself.

For the twelfth time in twenty minutes, Greg leaned out the kitchen door and checked out the dining table, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Three white candles in a silver candelabra as the center piece, and the fanciest plates he had on top of a red table cloth. The red wine was chilling on the ice, and the music— the low tones of Frank Sinatra— hummed throughout the house.

He nodded, deciding that it was as perfect as it was going to get, and moved to check on the potatoes. They had finished boiling, so he took out a mixing bowl and added the milk and cream before taking out the masher. He took out all of his frustrations on the potatoes, trying to chase away Nick's eyes from his thoughts, trying to forget the way he tasted— salty and sharp, like bitter chocolate— the way he looked with his shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, standing there guilty in the locker room looking— _dammit_! These were the details he was trying to forget.

There was a knock at his door and he thanked God for the distraction from his thoughts as he went immediately to let Bryce in. He opened the door to reveal the vision of a sinful angel. Her strawberry hair was up in a ponytail and she wore a semi-casual black dress that ended just above her knees, but had a conservative high cut, slicing across her shoulders like a black horizon. Greg wondered if her dress choice had anything to do with Nick's earlier coments.

He smiled at her and pecked her lightly on the cheek before inviting her in. "You have absolutely no idea how good it is to see you, Bry," he breathed with a grateful smile.

His smile reflected in her eyes as she entered Greg's apartment, clutching her purse. "Oh, wow, Greg... You really went all out. I didn't expect this much."

"I figured I'd make up our missed date last night," he told her as he closed the door and leaned against it. His grin was still in place, now somewhat nervous, but he made a beeline for the wine and held it up. "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh how sweet..." she said. "But you know, I could really use a beer."

"I can do that," Greg said, and dashed to the kitchen. He dug around in his fridge before pulling out a bottle of Dead Guy Ale and handing it to her.

She eyed the label than cocked an eyebrow. "What, you don't see enough dead guys on the job?"

He laughed. "Hey, that's a good brand. Try it." He tossed her a bottle opener.

"It's not made of real dead guys, is it?" she inquired as she popped off the cap. She took a sip, then nodded approvingly. "Not bad."

"Dead guys taste good, don't they?" Greg cringed at the poorly worded joke, but shrugged it off. "Have a seat, B, and I will be your waiter."

"Oh, Greg, you don't have to do that," she said. "I had the impression this was a sort of casual thing."

"You're a little too dressed up for casual," Greg noted.

"Well, I'm a girl. I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed. And standing here looking at your table, I feel _under_dressed."

Greg felt a little bad for making her uncomfortable. "Sorry... I just thought it would be nice."

"Oh it is, don't get me wrong!" she said quickly. "I'm just... a little unprepared is all."

He wanted to make her feel better, so he moved closer towards her and slid his hands around her waist. "You look gorgeous, Bry," he whispered. He lightly kissed her lips, tasting her gloss, which seemed to be cranberry flavored. He leaned his forehead against hers. "I am really glad you came tonight."

"I have nowhere else to be," she muttered.

He kissed her again, this time deeper, his tongue slipping between her cranberry flavored lips and he pulled her body closer to him. His hand moved up her face, and he felt her knees buckle and followed her down to the couch. Her fingers tickled the back of his neck as he kissed down her jaw line, ignoring the nagging voices in the back of his head, telling him that _this_ was wrong, and that she would never kiss like _Nick_.

Rather than be discouraged by such thoughts, they only egged Greg on, adding passion to what would otherwise be a passionless act as he breathed her in, his fingers exploring every inch of her, and she responded, by no means a passive lover as she kissed up to his ear.

"How about we skip dinner?"

He closed his eyes, generally heartened by such teasing coos, but instead he tried to ignore them. He devoured every inch of her, desperately trying to prove himself wrong, frantically searching for some other obsession, something else to dream about, something other than _him_.

Anxious as he was, he didn't waste much time with foreplay as he hiked up her dress. She didn't seem to mind as she unzipped his jeans. They didn't bother to move from the couch, as it was furniture, and it met their needs well enough. The whole affair lasted possibly a total of five minutes before it was over.

Greg rested on top of Bryce, who blinked a few times. "That was... interesting."

Greg straightened up, suddenly very self conscious. He pulled up his boxers and jeans. "Um... yeah."

"That wasn't exactly how I imagined it..." Bryce said slowly. She sat up on the couch, pushing her dress down and smoothing it over her knees. She glanced awkwardly at Greg. "We could... try again..."

"No, I think you should go home..." Greg said, staring straight ahead.

She was silent. She rested her chin on her fists. "It wasn't... _bad_..."

"Oh don't even try," Greg muttered, rolling his eyes. "It was terrible."

She put a kind hand on his shoulder. "It was sort of impromptu. We moved too fast." She rose to her feet. "I'll get dinner? You don't want it to go to waste."

They should have eaten dinner first. Now, he had to sit through a whole meal of embarrassment and small talk. He heard Bryce walk behind the couch and to the kitchen, but he remained sitting on the couch and staring straight ahead, wondering why things had been going so dreadfully wrong for him in everything he did.

He heard the clattering of plates as Bryce set the table for him and he turned his head to watch her body move, her hands delicately placing the dish down, her eyes cast downwards, focusing on her task. She was beautiful, she was graceful, she was everything he could ask for and more, and yet when he looked at her, he felt nothing.

Because Nick was persistently on his mind.

"Would it be terribly rude if I asked you to take yours to go?" Greg asked. "This night hasn't exactly turned out how I wanted."

"It's not too late to save it," Bryce reminded him. "Come on. I hold nothing against you. We'll take things slow. Relax. Ease our way into the evening."

"Well, I have to get into work," Greg lied. He had actually called in sick earlier, expecting to spend the night with Bryce. But now all he wanted to do was get away from her. "Please, Bryce... You have no idea how awkward this is for me."

She pursed her lips, seemingly annoyed, but she nodded and gathered up her plate. "Men..." she mumbled, before turning on her heal and heading to the kitchen.

Little did she know, Greg echoed her sentiments.

_Men._


	5. Labels

**_Author's Note:_** Two things: I love you guys who love this and take the time to tell me and an apology for not updating earlier, it's a hectic day.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

He dragged his feet into the Las Vegas Crime Lab, having nowhere else to go really. He reported to Grissom in his office, who looked up upon his arrival.

"I thought you called in sick," his supervisor said slowly.

Greg shrugged. "It got better," he mumbled dully. "I'm gonna continue with that assault thing. Unless you have something else you want me to do."

"No..." Grissom replied, turning back to a paper on his desk. "But Nick was wondering where you were. You may want to talk to him. He seemed a little upset when I told him you called in sick."

Greg cringed at the thought of talking to Nick right now. But he nodded. "Where is he?" he asked, more to avoid him than to seek him out.

"Last I saw, he was talking to Hodges about the cocaine at his scene," Grissom told him, turning a page in his file.

Greg nodded and headed out of Grissom's office and made his way to the locker room, where he opened his locker and was about to take out his vest when he remembered he didn't have an assignment in the field today, so there was really no reason to be in there.

He closed the locker and frowned, a little puzzled at what had brought him to that room. He looked over his shoulder at Nick's locker, and the memory flashed across his consciousness. He cringed and tried to push it away, denying the fact that all he wanted to do was kiss Nick again. He closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath, retreating into the safety of his imagination where he allowed himself to envision Nick for only a moment, against the lockers, his shirt hanging open, but the moment was completely different. He wasn't angry, he wasn't anxious, he was slow, he was grateful, and he savored every second—

"Greg?"

He was so startled that he jumped backwards and fell over the bench, knocking his head painfully on the second row of lockers behind him. He scrunched up his whole face as the agony echoed in his head, radiating fire into his brain. He felt as if a monkey had crushed his head between two cymbals. He swore under his breath as he tried to move, but his whole body was sore. He opened his eyes and looked up to see a hand outstretched to help him up and without thinking of the repercussions, Greg gladly accepted it. He rubbed his eyes as someone pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks, sorry, I was distract—" He opened his eyes and all the air fled from him as he saw Nick standing less than an inch away from him. And for one split second of insanity, all he wanted to do was kiss him. His eyes focused on Nick's lips and his hands trembled. Finally, he pushed Nick away and ducked his head down, his face flushing as he walked a little ways away from Nick.

"I wanted to talk to you," Nick called.

Greg felt his face on fire with shame, and refused to turn and face the Texan. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Maybe an explanation would be a good idea," Nick suggested.

It may have been his imagination, but Greg thought he heard spite in the corners of his southern drawl. Greg tensed. "I have none. I don't know what I was thinking..." He dropped his voice to a whimper. "Please don't be mad..."

Nick said nothing for a long time, and Greg was tempted to turn and make sure that he was even still there. Nick was a proper Southern boy, Greg knew that. Though they had never talked politics, he somehow doubted that Nick would come out waving a rainbow flag in support of gay marriage. He had misread Nick's behavior. Nick was just upset about Warrick. It had nothing to do with Greg, or with feelings Nick may have had for him. And now, Greg had ruined everything.

And then, Nick let out a frustrated sigh and Greg heard him shuffle his feet. "I'm not _mad_ at all, Greg, I'm..." He seemed lost for words himself. "I'm just so confused."

"Yeah, confused is an understatement," Greg said with a snort. Finally, he dared to turn around again and saw Nick was sitting on the bench, chewing on his bottom lip. Nick suddenly closed his eyes and let out an ironic laugh.

"And to think after all these years..." He seemed to be speaking more to himself than Greg, but Greg was glad to listen. His eyelids fluttered open again and his dark eyes drifted up to meet Greg's. "Do you really... Was that really you, yesterday?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?!" Greg cried with a laugh. "Grissom?"

Even Nick had to laugh at that. "Thank God it wasn't, I might have passed out."

Something seemed to occur to Greg and he took a step forward. "You were... I mean, you didn't push me away."

Nick's eyes darted to the floor, then up to Greg again. "I was... caught up in the moment."

"Yeah, me too," Greg confessed with a sigh of relief. Nick seemed to be as tormented about this as he was, and misery loves company. "So you... didn't hate it? It didn't freak you out?"

"Are you kidding?!" Nick exclaimed. "It fucking terrified me. But... no, I... I didn't hate it."

Greg nodded and took another step towards Nick again. "I always thought... I mean, I had you pegged as a... a..."

"Texan?" Nick supplied with a smirk.

"Traditional," Greg corrected. "You know. Husband and wife sort of thing? Man and woman?"

"To be honest..." Nick began slowly. "I've been all messed up about this sort of thing since I was a kid."

Greg blinked. "You have?"

Nick squirmed, visibly uncomfortable. "Yeah, sort of..." He looked up at Greg again. "But I grew up in that sort of household. The one you're talking about. They loved me, but there were certain things I could never do. You know, the typical stuff. Rape, murder... make out with a guy... So I never did any of those things. Even if..." His eyes lingered on Greg for a moment. "Even if I wanted to."

"Oh God, you want to rape and murder me?!" Greg said in an excited whisper.

Nick laughed and rolled his eyes. "I never thought we'd be having this conversation. Ever. And then yesterday, you totally caught me by surprise. I thought maybe you were on coke too, or maybe I was."

Greg took another step closer to Nick until he was standing right beside him. He opened his mouth, searching for the words. "Have you ever... done anything like this before?"

Nick bit his lip. "You know how in college one of your prime goals— above academics, of course— is to sleep with your TA?"

Greg's eyes doubled in size. "No way..."

Nick nodded, dropping his gaze. "Although, it hadn't been my plan... It happened once. I went to him to ask for help on my chem lab. One thing led to another and... I was so freaked out, I skipped class for a week just to avoid seeing him. At the end of the quarter, he got married, and I never saw him again. I never did anything after that, terrified of what my family would think, what my friends would think. I pushed the whole thing to the back of my mind and haven't thought of it since. I dated a whole bunch of girls and tried to pretend it never happened. And for a long time, that worked." His eyes rose once again to meet Greg's. "And then, there was the beating."

The color drained from Greg's face and he fell onto the bench next to Nick, staring straight ahead. "Oh. That." They rarely discussed what had happened to him two years ago, but when they did, 'the beating' was the euphemism of choice. While harsh enough to convey something bad, it was light enough that it didn't dive into exactly how horrific the experience actually was. Apparently, Greg realized, it was horrific for the both of them.

"What do you mean?" Greg asked slowly, glancing up at Nick.

Nick held his breath momentarily, then sighed. "I realized I felt like I had to… protect you. And when I failed, it dug under my skin, made me crazy, furious, and I…" He glanced up at Greg with terrified eyes. "That's when I knew."

"Oh…" Greg said slowly, blinking at his friend and this brand new revelation.

"But anyways," Nick said suddenly. "It's _you_ who kissed _me_. Remember? So what's _your_ deal?"

"I dunno," Greg said with a shrug. "I've never even considered… I mean, you were always just… Just Nick. Nick Stokes. And then the other day, I just… It felt like the thing to do, at the time… I haven't done _anything_ like this before. Like… _ever_…" He cast a quick sidelong glance at Nick, ignoring the urge to reach out and grab his hand so the Texan could lead him out of the dark.

Nick nodded. "I have little experience in the matter myself," he acknowledged. He placed a hand on Greg's knee. "I'm no stranger to complicated relationships, however," he added with a clever smirk.

Greg let out a quiet, curt laugh. "You'll walk me through this, then?" he asked.

Nick scoffed. "Please, Greg. It's just like any other relationship you've been in."

"Except it's with you," Greg said pointedly. He still had reservations about this. "I mean… what'll people think?"

"I've spent my whole life worrying about what people think," Nick told him. "I think it's time to worry about what feels right for me. Not them."

"Yeah, but…" Greg began. "Like, it's not like you could ever tell your parents about me."

Nick sighed and pursed his lips. "You sure know how to ruin a moment. Bringing a guy's parents into it…"

Greg shook his head, still somewhat in shock. "Man… I never thought I'd… I never imagined myself as being… gay…" He tasted the word, and it felt wrong on his tongue, even though being with Nick felt so right.

"You're not," Nick said.

Greg was confused. "Excuse me?"

"You're not gay," Nick clarified.

"I'm entering into a relationship with another man," Greg said slowly. "I think 'gay' pretty much sums that up."

But Nick shook his head. "It's not about that. Gay, straight— they're just labels. You aren't entering into a relationship with a man, you're doing it with a _person_. Inevitably… that's all we really are. These words, these distinctions... they didn't even exist until society decided that they needed to. The label doesn't define you. You define the label."

"I'm confused…" Greg said slowly. "Am I gay or am I not?"

Nick laughed. "You're Greg. That's all."

With those words, Greg felt intensely relieved. He was incredibly aware of Nick's hand still resting on his knee, and for the first time, he consciously reached out and placed his palm against Nick's cheek, feeling the rough hairs of a five o'clock shadow. He ran his thumb over the stubble and the feel of it— like sandpaper— sent chills down his spine. Simultaneously, Nick's hand moved up Greg's leg to grip his hip and they both leaned forward, sharing their second kiss, this time slowly, probingly, daringly— finding that rhythm that they yearned to make their own. This was brand new territory for the both of them, and they were each determined to explore it completely.

Greg felt Nick's hand travel up his side, taking Greg's shirt with beneath it, and the moving fabric pressed against his skin was invigorating. Greg's hand moved down, behind Nick's neck as Nick found the small of Greg's back.

They were interrupted by Greg's ringing phone and the two men broke apart. But instead of staring at each other in shock, they were both smiling, satisfied that something had worked out for once.

Greg answered his phone without really looking at it, his eyes unable to leave Nick's face. "Sanders… Huh?... Oh yeah. Where?... OK, I'll be right there." He hung up. "Vega has a suspect for my assault case. He says it could be related to a rape a few hours before, something Catherine's been working on."

"Right," Nick said, nodding. "Yeah, we should both get back to work."

Greg rose to his feet and looked down at Nick. "I'm glad we talked this out," he said, even though he had been dreading the conversation.

"Me too."

Greg headed out into the hall feeling better than he had in weeks and strode down it with pride. He felt as if he had finally figured out who he really was, and he had Nick to thank for that. His good mood lasted mere seconds, however, when his phone rang again.

"I told you, Sam, I'll be right there!" he insisted.

"Greg, it's me," came a feminine voice, and Greg's heart sank.

"Bryce? Uh… What's up?" Greg asked, trying to fake interest.

"I feel awful about how things turned out last night," she confided in him. "I think it has something to do with Nick."

Greg felt his blood freeze in his veins and he stopped walking. "What? Nick? Why?"

"Because he's your best friend, and we don't get along," Bryce explained, and Greg felt his heart start beating again. "It's gotta be driving you crazy. Being with a girl your best friend doesn't approve of."

"Uh… yeah, that's part of it," Greg said, truthfully.

"So I've decided that I'm going to apologize."

Greg blinked. "For what?"

"Being such a bitch," she told him. "I understand why Nick doesn't like me. Hell, he said it all to me in that hallway. I want to tell him I can work on it. I want him to know that if I'm annoying him, it's OK for him to tell me to shut up. I want things to be good between us, so things can be good between you and me as well."

_That's not gonna help_, Greg thought grimly. He had forgotten all about his debacle with Bryce earlier that evening. And now that he had just involved himself with Nick, he knew he was cheating on _somebody_, he just couldn't figure out which one. "B, I'm gonna have to call you back."

"I know, you're working. And Vega obviously wants to see you. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, later," Greg mumbled, and then he hung up.

He needed damage control. He couldn't tell Nick he had slept with Bryce, because the Texan would flip out. And he couldn't tell Bryce about Nick because… Well, he couldn't tell _anyone_ about Nick. He needed someone who was neither of them, someone detached from the whole thing, but someone he could trust. Someone good with relationships who could give him advice. But who did he know like that?

And then, all of a sudden, the answer was there, staring at him, number four on his speed dial. Excitedly, he hit the number, and waited for his savior to answer.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God, you answered!" Greg breathed as he slid into an empty layout room and closed the door. "I was worried I'd get your voicemail."

"Greg, is something wrong?"

"Yeah. A big something's wrong, Sara. I need your advice."

"What's going on?" Sara sounded nervous. "Is everyone alright?"

"What?" Greg blinked. "No. I mean, yeah, everyone's fine. This is about me."

"OK…" she said slowly. "What about you? And hello, by the way. It's not like you call me every day."

"I know, I don't, but that's partially your fault," Greg said quickly. "I mean, you don't call me either…" He felt obliged to ask. "So… How are you?"

"You don't really care about how I am, do you?" she asked shrewdly, calling his bluff.

"Right now? OK, no, not really, although I have to admit it's something I do think about a lot during long shifts."

"Really?" Sara sounded flattered. "Why?"

"Because I think, _Dammit,_ if Sara were here, things would go a _lot_ faster."

She laughed. "OK, what's on your mind?"

Bluntness was always the best way to go, especially in times like this. "OK, so I kissed Nick."

"Oh." He couldn't tell if she was surprised or not. "And?"

"And… I don't know what to do."

"OK…" Sara said slowly. "Um… Did you _want_ to kiss him?"

"What?!" Greg exclaimed, and then had the strangest sense of déjà vu. "No. Wait. That's not my problem."

"Then what's your problem?" Sara pressed, sounding slightly amused.

"Are you laughing at me?!" Greg demanded. "Because you know you have to tell me if you are."

"Greg! It's four in the morning! I actually _sleep_ at night now, and you woke me up to tell me that you're freaked out that you may have fallen for the Southern charms of Nick Stokes. Of _course_ I'm laughing at you."

"It's not just that…" Greg said slowly. "There's this… girl…"

"There's always a girl," Sara sighed.

"I kinda sorta… slept with her tonight."

"Right," Sara said, as if she expected this. "And when did you kiss Nick?"

"Er…" Greg bit his lip, nervously. "Which time?"

This time, she outright guffawed. "It's happened more than once?!"

"Only twice!" he said quickly in his own defense. "Once before I slept with Bryce, and the second time after."

"Is Bryce _another_ guy?" Sara asked.

"No! Bryce is the girl," he corrected.

"Oh dear, Greg, you've entangled yourself in a regular soap opera… But what do you expect me to do about it?"

"I need you to tell me what to _do_!" he cried anxiously.

"And what makes you think I'd _know_ what to do?"

He fumbled for an answer. "Um… I don't know! Because you're the only person I know in a healthy, committed relationship."

"You think I'm in a healthy relationship?" Sara sounded skeptical. "You obviously don't know very much about what a healthy relationship looks like. I never _see_ Grissom these days— and that's my own fault. I'm the one that ruined this relationship, not him. And you come to _me_ for advice?"

Greg didn't know what to say to that. "OK. Well… I trust you. I know you're smart, and I needed an outsider's perspective on this whole thing."

"Well, which one do you actually want to get involved with?" Sara asked. "I think that's a good place to start."

"Well, um…" Greg thought about it. "Nick. I want… I want Nick."

"OK…" Sara said slowly. "So tell Bryce about Nick."

"I can't do that!" Greg sounded appalled at the suggestion.

"Why not?"

"Because she'd freak, that's why not! Not to mention the fact that I don't think I'm ready to tell _anyone_ about Nick."

"You told me, didn't you?"

"That's because I thought you were _smart_!" Greg snapped. "But all I hear coming out of your mouth is a whole lot of stupid!"

He heard Sara sigh. "Greg, take it from someone who knows. Lies and secrets don't work out, because there's always someone, somewhere who figures it out."

Greg knew exactly what she was talking about, and he wondered what would happen if a similar thing occurred with him and Nick. "I don't think we'd get in as much trouble as you and Grissom did."

"Are you kidding?" Sara cried. "You guys together is an even _bigger_ deal!"

"I meant that I don't think anyone would try to _kill_ us because of it," Greg clarified, then thought about his statement. "Or, well… I guess you never know…"

"Look, Greg, if you want to go into this relationship with Nick, go into it with your heart on your sleeve. Hold nothing back, not from him, or from anyone else. That's the best advice I can give you."

"That's lame advice," Greg decided. "What else do you have?"

He swore he could almost see Sara rolling her eyes at the question. "Well… Just tell Bryce you're not interested. It's a start, and it's honest. You can deal with the whole Nick thing later."

"You don't seem too surprised about this whole situation," Greg noted.

"Believe me, I'm floored," she returned. "But I'm just too tired. Besides, didn't I ever tell you about the time I frenched Catherine in the break room?"

"You _what_?!"

"I'm just kidding. But Grissom and I did once share a quickie at a crime scene."

"I did not need to know that... Unless that was another joke."

"No, I'm serious. I practically had to beg him to do it. We found a closet in another room, he kept talking about contaminating the scene, but I told him that we weren't technically _at_ the scene—"

"Yeah, I didn't need to know that," Greg interrupted, before she continued and he formed a scarring mental picture. "That's just too _Gray's Anatomy_ for my tastes."

She laughed, and Greg realized just how much he missed hearing it in the halls of the Vegas Lab. "Listen, sometimes life throws us curveballs and we just have to try the best we can to hit them out of the park. But I am exhausted. I'll call you in the morning?"

"Don't bother, I'll be sleeping," he said.

He hung up feeling much better, until he realized he still didn't know what to do. He found his phone buzzing in his hand and quickly answered it.

"Sanders."

"Where the hell are you?!"

Greg sighed. "I'm coming, Sam," he said and he hung up. He would just have to deal with his love life on his own time.


	6. Sin

**_Author's Note:_** And less than twenty-four hours later, I am back. I'm glad you all liked the conversation with Sara. Trust me when I say that will not be her last appearance. I am many chapters ahead now, and am just wrapping it up (or trying to figure out the best way to wrap it up). Lots of things happen between now and then, and next chapter is the main reason I boosted the rating of this thing up to M, although some of the words Bryce says also influenced that. (As one who curses a lot in daily life, she says a few words even I wouldn't say.) Still, it's more of a T+ rating, as there will be no explicit scenes (sorry for those anticipating smut) although there will be innuendo and implications galore. I'm gonna leave the rating at M just because it's better safe than sorry, and I don't want folks complaining that the rating is too low (which has happened to me before). Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

But the days passed, and Greg kept putting off the awkward conversations, content instead to just carry on with life as it was. Ignoring the most important part of Sara's advice, Nick and Greg had both decided that it was best to keep their new relationship under wraps, unsure as of yet how Catherine and Grissom would react if they ever found out, not to mention Ecklie or Bryce. So they got together after shift for drinks, which sometimes turned into more than just drinks, and they would cast each other glances over the corpses that they processed, and take any excuse they could get to bush against each other in an empty room. As far as they knew, everyone remained absolutely oblivious to the new level their relationship had taken. Nick had once wondered aloud if anyone could even conceive of them together.

When it came to Bryce, Greg kept her at an arm's length. She was suddenly confused as to why he had stopped flirting with her, or asking her over, but she assumed it was due to the embarrassment of the last night they had spent together. So she gave him the distance he clearly wanted, but remained friendly, understanding, and caring. Greg was glad for this on many levels. For one, it removed the awkwardness between them, and for another, he quite liked Bryce as a person, and enjoyed being friends without any romantic tension blooming between them. Even Nick had lightened up to her, now that he knew where Greg's loyalties lay, and the two of them were getting along like old friends. Nick even invited her to go clubbing with him and Catherine one night and she had been so excited she had hugged the Texan as a thank you.

Since everything was perfect for Greg, he saw no reason to ruin what he had by either telling Nick about his night with Bryce, or by telling Bryce about his affair with Nick. He had no idea why Sara had been so against secrets. Obviously, she and Grissom hadn't been as good at keeping theirs as he was at keeping all of his.

Until the day he made the fatal mistake.

Nick had been exceptionally daring that day, and as Greg passed by the AV lab, Nick seized him by the arm and pulled him inside, closing the door.

"What's going on?" Greg asked, before he noticed the mischievous look on Nick's face.

"I've been thinking about all of the nooks and crannies in this place. Do you know how many places there are to hide here?"

Greg was only mildly confused, afraid he knew where Nick was going. "And how many are there in the AV lab?"

"Just one," Nick said, pushing Greg against the door and kissing him hard.

As nervous as Greg was about this (they had never _dared_ to hook up anywhere in the lab since their second kiss in the locker room), he had to admit it was also exhilarating. So he allowed Nick to take control as Greg tried to follow his lead, but Nick was like an expert dancer and Greg felt like an amateur. It was hard to mimic or even remotely match Nick's moves.

As Nick began to kiss down his neck, Greg gasped for air. "Oh God, what's gotten _into_ you?!" Greg panted, his mind quickly becoming overrun with sensations as Nick's hands slid under his shirt. He closed his eyes, guiding his hands around Nick's shoulders as the Texan moved up again to his lips and Greg fell into him wholly, completely, closing his eyes as his mind went blank—

And then, he was falling backwards. At first, Greg just thought he was imagining things because of Nick's intensity, but then he realized that Nick's lips were nowhere on his body and he blinked before he found himself on the floor.

Nick was on top of him, and Greg's shirt was half off. But Nick wasn't looking down at him. Instead, he was looking up at something else, and Greg felt Nick's hands clench against the sides of his stomach, taking Greg's shirt inside of his fists.

Slowly, Greg's eyes followed Nick's gaze to see a stunned Bryce Adams holding a folder and staring at them, mystified, horrified. She took one deep, shuddering breath before the folder slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor and she ran in the opposite direction.

"Oh shit..." Greg muttered, throwing Nick off of him and quickly getting to his feet as he pulled his shirt down. He ran after the redheaded girl and saw her flee through the front doors of the lab.

"Bryce, wait!" he called, when he reached the street. But she was still running, looking over her shoulder to see if Greg was still following her.

He steeled himself and sprinted after her for about a block, closing the distance between them before he grabbed her by the hand and she jolted to a stop and fell against his chest, beating against him furiously.

"Get _off_ of me!" she screamed furiously, tears streaming down her face. "I never want to talk to you again!"

"Bryce, let me explain—"

"You don't have to explain _anything_!" she spat spitefully. "Oh my God, how could I have been so _stupid_?!" She gave him one last push, breaking the grip he had on her wrist and taking off down the street.

Greg rolled his eyes before following her again, yelling her name until finally, she stopped and spun around to stare at him.

"Stop _following_ me!" she demanded, taking a few steps backward as he approached her. "You're disgusting!"

"Disgusting?" That wasn't a word he expected to hear. "Listen, B, let me just explain—"

"No, you can't call me that anymore," she said, shaking her head. "Not B, not Bry, not anything, OK? You no longer have that right!"

"Fine, Bryce," Greg said, reluctantly. He had been hoping that by using a pet name, she would warm up to him, but obviously not. "I didn't do this to hurt you—"

"Coulda fooled me!" she cried. "You son of a bitch!"

"I get that you're angry, but this has nothing to do with you—"

"Adding insult to injury?" she said with a barking laugh. "Telling me that I have nothing to do with this? I thought you _liked_ me! Did I have nothing to do with _that_ too?"

Greg closed his eyes, realizing his mistake. "No, that's not what I meant..."

She blinked the tears out of her eyes and stared up at the sky. "And everything was going so well... I actually had _friends_! Nick and Catherine... Nick..." She cringed. "Oh my _God_!"

"Bryce, I _do_ like you, but..." For once, she waited for him to finish, and he actually didn't know how to end that sentence.

"But instead you'd rather fuck men," she said coldly.

It sounded so wrong when she said it, and it caused a sharp pain to shoot through his chest. "Bryce, please..." he begged.

"No... I have nothing to say to you..." She held up her hands and shook her head, taking a few more steps backward when someone seized her from behind and pressed his forearm around her neck. She screamed. "Oh this is _perfect_!"

Greg held up his hands as the assailant held a knife to Bryce's stomach with his other hand. "Give me all your cash!" he demanded.

"Bite me!" she spat. "I am _not_ in a good mood, buddy!"

"Bryce, I don't think he's kidding!" Greg said, anxiously. "Man, just... calm down. Let her go, we can sort this out."

"No!" Bryce shrieked. "No, you have _no_ say in this! You don't get to run in here and _save_ me! Who do you think you are, you fucking faggot!"

Even the mugger seemed surprised by her word choice, but a fire began to burn inside of Greg's chest and he narrowed his eyes at her. That was the last straw.

"Fine! You know what, Bryce, I have half a mind to let this guy kill you!" He addressed the mugger. "Go ahead! Stab her."

"You heard him, go ahead and stab me, you cowardly fuck!" Bryce yelled.

The mugger seemed confused. "Don't tempt me," he said. "You guys are fucked up."

"You want to know what's fucked up?" Bryce asked, struggling against the attacker's grip. She gestured at Greg. "_This_ guy has been leading me on for _months_ now and all the while he's been fucking another _guy_!"

The mugger's brow furrowed as he looked at Greg. "Seriously?"

"You're making it really hard for me to want to help you here, Bryce," Greg said coldly.

"Yeah, lady. Make with the cash," the mugger ordered, seeming to remember why he had attacked them in the first place.

"I don't have any cash, you brainless shit!" she snarled. "OK, I've had _enough_ of this!"

She stomped on her attacker's left foot and then kicked up between his legs. The attacker immediately doubled over in pain, pushing her towards Greg in the process who was forced to catch her.

The mugger, in severe pain, glared up at the both of him. "You two are fucking crazy!" he yelled, before limping away in the opposite direction.

Bryce waved her fist at him as he retreated. "Yeah, you better run, you cock-sucker!" She then turned to Greg. "Or is that name better suited for _you_, do you think?"

Greg rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Bryce," he growled.

"No!" Bryce shrieked. "No, _you're_ the one that wanted to talk! So talk! What the hell is your problem anyway?!"

"It just _happened_!" Greg finally blurted out. "And I was _scared_, alright? I didn't know what to do!"

"So you did _me_," Bryce spat. "How wonderful."

"That's not what happened," Greg said shaking his head. "I do like you, Bryce, I _do_, I just... I don't think we should be... together."

"Because you're a faggot," Bryce concluded flatly.

"Would you quit using that word?" Greg asked, feeling as if it were nails on a chalkboard every time she said it. "Because I don't _love _you like that!"

"But you think you love _Nick_?!" she growled.

"I..." He wasn't sure how to answer that. "Aw, hell, Bryce, I don't _know_! I just know I don't love _you_. I thought I could. I thought maybe, you were the one. And then I realized you weren't, and that I was kidding myself. I _wanted_ to tell you, I just didn't know _how_. So I put it off, and I hoped that maybe I'd never have to."

"You are such a _liar_!" Bryce cried. "You are such a fucking douchebag winy little faggot _liar_!"

"OK, that is the very _last_ time you are allowed to use that word!" Greg roared warningly.

"What? Faggot?" Bryce hissed defiantly. "Would you prefer dirty queer?"

Greg seized her hands and glared at her. "OK, that's enough!" he snarled, twisting her wrists.

She tensed and let out a cry. "Greg, you're hurting me!"

He leaned in close and hissed into her ear. "You have no _idea_ how hard this whole thing has been for me! You don't know _anything _about what it's like to feel this way, to be this way, to wake up one morning and find out that everything you thought you were, you _aren't_. You have _no right_ to stand there and judge me, because you are _just_ as dirty as I am, probably more so, with your secrets and your sins, and you cannot stand there and condemn _me_ for falling in love with someone just because he isn't _you_!"

Her eyes welled with fresh new tears as she stared up at him with her mouth half open, trembling in his grip, or maybe it was his hands that were making her shake. He seemed to realize the grand truth he had just confessed to her, and he knew it was impossible to ever take it back now that he had said it.

She whimpered again in pain as his grip tightened on her wrists and she blinked until the tears spilled out of her eyes. "You... you l-love..."

He threw her hands down and she stumbled backwards and cradled her wrists close to her chest, rubbing them with her hands.

"I..." He couldn't think. "That's not what this is about," he whispered calmly.

She closed her mouth and nodded, swallowing hard. "This is a sin..." she breathed. "And it's killing us both."

"And what do you know about sin, Bryce?" Greg whispered. "What do you know about the other side of the coin? The other end of the equation? The other half of heaven? Tell me, Bryce. What do you know about sin?"

She took deep breaths, quaking there on the street, suddenly so very small in the big black world that surrounded her, suddenly questioning everything she had always thought to be true, suddenly just a child as naive about sin as the people who had taught her.

Greg let out a long, tired sigh. "Please... No matter how much you may hate me, don't tell anyone else about this. It's not your secret to tell."

Slowly, she nodded, and whispered a barely audible, "OK."

Greg nodded. "Good. Thank you... I, uh... I need to get back to work now."

Again, she nodded, still stunned as she watched him turn around and leave her all alone.

* * *

He returned to the lab feeling as if someone had reached inside of him and torn out his intestines and then fed them to a dozen hungry crows. He had an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach and it was almost enough to make him nauseous, but he knew he had nothing left to vomit. Nick was in the waiting room, anxiously tapping his hand against his knee and he leapt up when he saw Greg enter. His face was completely pale as his eyes searched for answers.

"She won't say anything," Greg said simply. But he couldn't look at Nick. He couldn't talk to Nick. So he just moved past the Texan and into the lab. "I sent some DNA to Wendy, I'm gonna go see if she's done with that yet..."

"Greg—" Nick began timorously.

Greg just held up a hand. He felt different after his fight with Bryce. Her words echoed in his skull, and he refused to look at Nick when he could still hear her words. _Faggot. Queer. Sin._ He dragged his feet down the hall. If Bryce had reacted so violently, what about the others? They could _never_ tell them. If they ever did, Greg knew it would be the end of everything he had come to know as normal. He would have to leave, and go far, far away from there.

Greg couldn't have known that Nick was still by the entrance when Bryce returned.

* * *

Nick stared after Greg's retreating back, his heart still pounding rapidly in his chest as he remembered the look of utter revulsion and shock on Bryce's face when she had opened the door to the AV lab and he and Greg had come tumbling out. _So much for secret_, he thought. Even though Greg had assured Nick that she wouldn't tell, Nick wondered if it was time that _they_ did. As surprising as everyone might find it, it's not like Nick or Greg were any different than they were before.

The doors to the lab flew open and Bryce walked in briskly when Nick tried to stop her.

"Bryce—"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said quickly, almost tripping over her words. Just like Greg, she refused to look at Nick, but her eyes were the size of saucers.

"What happened to your neck?" Nick asked, noticing the bruising.

Bryce rubbed it. "Nothing, I'm fine," she mumbled, and then Nick noticed her wrists were also red.

"Bryce, did Greg—"

"Just leave me alone," Bryce begged, looking at a point on the wall over Nick's shoulder. "I told Greg I won't say anything, so I won't."

"Bryce, if Greg hurt you..." Nick began.

And then Bryce laughed. "Right. Like you would _really_ care all that much if he hurt me?"

"I'd like to think of us as friends now," Nick explained slowly. "And no matter what, Greg has no right to—"

"I highly recommend you stop worrying about me, Nick," she advised.

Nick still felt the urge to rectify the matter and he walked after her as she made her way down the hall. "I'm sorry if what you saw upset you," Nick said, catching up with her and walking next to her. "I know how you feel about him. And I know how it feels to be rejected—"

"He didn't _reject_ me," Bryce hissed, cattily. "At least, not to my face. He led me on, Nick."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to—"

"What else do you call it, when a guy sleeps with you and then treats you like a dead fish?!" Bryce demanded.

Nick stopped walking, but she continued, until she realized he was no longer there. More out of confusion than actual interest, Bryce stopped and turned around to see where he had gone. "What?" she deadpanned.

"He _slept_ with you?" Nick breathed.

Bryce's face was inscrutable. "He didn't tell you?"

"When?"

She tried to think. "I dunno... a few weeks ago. Maybe a month."

"_Specifically_," Nick demanded, his hands clenching into fists. "When?"

She shrugged. "Um... The first day of my suspension. Yeah, he invited me over to dinner... You two weren't..."

The cogs in Nick's head were spinning, trying desperately to make sense of what Bryce was telling him.

"Huh," Bryce said, placing a hand on her hip. "I guess he led us _both_ on, didn't he?"

Without even thinking about Bryce, Nick turned on his heal and made for the DNA lab, where he saw Wendy talking to an exhausted looking Greg.

"What the hell is your problem?!" Nick demanded loudly of the younger CSI.

Perplexed, Wendy looked from one of them to the other. "Um..."

"Why didn't you tell me you slept with Bryce?!"

"_Nick!_" Greg hissed.

"OK, I'm just going to go and annoy Hodges..." Wendy said, before slipping out of her own lab.

"Great!" Greg exclaimed. "Knowing Wendy and Hodges, the whole _lab_ will know that by the end of the day!"

"I'm just wondering why the hell _I_ didn't know about it!" Nick yelled. "You should have told me!"

"Yeah, well, the topic never came up in conversation," Greg confessed. "And besides, it's not like it _meant_ anything—"

"You wanna tell her that? Because she thinks you led her on, and to be honest Greg, I can see why," Nick snapped.

"Look, I didn't really sleep with her," Greg explained. "There was no actual sleeping involved."

"Oh, that makes me feel better."

Greg rolled his eyes. "I mean, the whole thing lasted maybe a total of seven minutes, alright? I was—" He cut himself off as he noticed the number of eyes watching him and Nick in the window. He lowered his voice and hissed through gritted teeth. "I was _scared_, alright?!"

"_You_ were scared?!" Nick's voice reached pitches he didn't even know he had. "Holy hell, Greg, you were the one who—"

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?!" Greg said quickly, his eyebrows raised to emphasize his point.

Nick looked at the small gathering of lab technicians out the window, and then back at Greg. "No," he said suddenly. "You have to make a choice here, Greg. I'm tired of half-truths and sneaking around. It's all or nothing, and you better choose now."

Greg paled significantly. "You're just going to put me on the _spot_ like that?!"

"Is that your answer then?" Nick asked.

"I told you before, I'm not used to—"

"I don't care what you're _used_ to," Nick interjected. "Just tell me right now, Greg, because this has the potential to fall apart right in front of our eyes. Are you in or are you out?"

Greg gathered up the files that were on Wendy's table. "I'm out," he said sternly. "Call me when you're _not_ crazy," he added, as he slammed the door to the DNA lab.

Nick took deep breaths as he stared at the slammed door, then shot daggers at the tiny audience he and Greg had garnered, and the lab rats scattered. He couldn't help but think he had made a terrible mistake.

* * *

_**End Note:**_ As Kegel and LaughableBlackStorm have been hearing, I am currently crewing for the fantastic and impressive _Angels in America_, and it has influenced the writing of this story at times in small ways. There may be scattered homages to the play, including scattered quotes. Bryce's line to Greg, "This is a sin and it's killing us both," is a line Harper (a Mormon addicted to Valium) tells her husband, Joe (who is also Mormon, and in the closet).


	7. Slur

**_Author's Note:_** Thanks to happyharper13 for the update on Bryce's name change in the series. I guess that makes her an even more original character here. And of course what's a story of mine without someone going through a traumatic experience? Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Greg looked at no one and tolerated nothing as he cleared a pathway down the hall like a tornado. Anyone who got in his way felt the heat of his wrath.

"Greg, I need you to—"

"I'll do it _later_, Catherine," Greg snapped.

"Hey Sanders, I heard you and Nick—"

"Shove it, Hodges."

"Greg, could I have a—"

"Not now, Grissom."

Finally, he found the entrance to the lab and pushed the doors open, angrily making his way out into the dark night. He needed to cool off. Just a few hours ago, his world had been perfect. He and Bryce were friends, and he and Nick were secret lovers. Everything was exactly as it should have been. He had lived in paradise for five weeks and now, one event had set into motion the downfall of his perfect world.

And it wasn't over yet.

Desperate for someone to complain to, Greg pulled out his phone. He wasn't really sure where he was going, he just wanted to walk around the city. He hit four on his speed dial and waited for Sara to answer.

"Hello?" She was groggy and lethargic, and Greg knew he had woken her up again.

He wanted to yell at her, to tell her how much of a bitch Bryce had been, and how big of a selfish asshole Nick was, but instead, he only whimpered, "Sara, I really screwed up."

She seemed to detect the desperation in her voice because she woke up immediately. "What happened, Greg?"

"It was all going so _well_!" he cried. "Nick and I, we were _great_, and no one knew, and it was _amazing_. Even things with me and Bryce were perfect. We were friends, we even hung out, the three of us together, and it was just... Everything just needed to stay that way. And then it didn't. It all changed because Bryce found us making out in the AV lab. She flipped! I chased her down the street and she yelled at me, called me a f-f-faggot..."

"Oh Greg..." Sara breathed. "I told you that secrets are always found out."

"I don't need an I-told-you-so, I need some sympathy!" Greg sobbed as the tears began to streak down his cheek. "I loved how things _were_. Even the fact that our relationship was secret seemed to just make things sexier. And then, Nick comes barging into Wendy's lab yelling about how I should have told him I slept with Bryce, and demanding that I out myself right there, in front of everyone. Can you believe that? In front of _everyone_! He told me to do it, or it was over. So... So of course I said it was over. But I don't _want_ it to be over, Sara! Oh God, I miss him already..."

"OK, OK, just... hush," she cooed. "You can work this out. You built this beautiful house of cards and it's all just come crashing down on top of you, but you can fix it. Just give it time. Let Nick cool off, go home, go to sleep, and talk to him about it in the morning. You'll both have clearer heads then, and you can explain to him why you weren't ready to come out yet. As for Bryce, just... just..." Sara seemed at a loss. "Fuck her."

This did make Greg emit a small laugh. "Been there, done that."

He heard the smile in Sara's voice. "You know what I mean. If she has a problem with you because of who you have feelings for, then that's her problem, not yours. Your real friends won't give a lick who you date."

"Like you?" Greg asked, smiling through his tears.

"Like me," she agreed. "It all seems really bad now, but in the morning it'll be better. Problems are always smaller when they're seen in the sunlight."

"Yeah..." Greg sniffed. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

"You come out on your own terms Greg," Sara told him. "Don't let anyone do it for you."

"OK," Greg said, feeling a little better already. "Oh God, Sara, I really miss you."

"I miss you too, hon, but—"

"Hey, give me your phone!" a gruff voice demanded from behind him, shoving a knife into his back.

"What?!" Greg cried, hanging up on Sara without warning. "Come on, man, I've already gotten mugged _once_ tonight!"

"Hey, wait a minute..." said the man behind him. "You sound familiar..." He forced Greg to turn around. "Hey! You're that faggot with that girl from earlier!"

"What are the odds," Greg mumbled, his eyes narrowing. "How're the family jewels?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," the mugger snickered, and then decked Greg in the jaw.

Greg blinked as he stumbled backwards, trying to chase the stars from his vision as he stretched out his throbbing jaw. He had bit his lip and he could taste his own blood. He looked up at the mugger.

"Fine! Take my phone! Like I give a shit!" Greg spat, throwing the phone at the mugger's feet, where it shattered into three pieces.

"Oh," said the mugger, amused. "I think I'm gonna be taking a lot more than your phone." He tilted his head up. "Yo, Mario! Check out what I found."

Greg knew it was time to get out of there so he slowly walked backwards. A few steps later, he hit something hard, but breathing.

"What's this?" a man behind him inquired. Greg looked up to see a massive man towering over him.

"Mario, I presume?" he said, cocking his eyebrow. He looked at the first mugger. "And who are you? Luigi?"

Mario grabbed Greg's arms and forced them behind his back.

"It's that little faggot I told you about," the first mugger said, ignoring Greg. "You know, with the girl."

"Oh!" Greg could feel the vibrations from the man's voice in his chest. "This should be fun."

For the first time in the exchange, Greg was really afraid. Nick had admitted that Greg was deceptively strong, and while he could have easily subdued the first mugger on his own, he was no match for the giant behind him. Mario pushed Greg forward and he stumbled before he fell to his knees in front of the first mugger, eyelevel with the man's waist.

"You like sucking cock, little man?" the mugger growled. He thrust his pelvis into Greg's face. "Suck mine!"

"Don't tempt him, Gary," Mario warned. He planted his foot into Greg's back and kicked him forward, and Greg's already sore jaw smashed against the pavement. "There are other things we can do to see the queer get excited." There was something dark and sinister beneath his words and a chill trickled through Greg's body like ice water.

"Consider this payback," the mugger named Gary snarled. "For what your ex-girlfriend pulled earlier."

Greg pushed himself up on all fours and Gary's foot connected with his stomach. He doubled over in pain but lashed out at Mario with his leg. After his last attack, he had done defense training for months, just to make sure that something like this would never happen again. And yet, all of that knowledge fled from his mind as cold fear overwhelmed him. He had promised himself that he would never be the victim again.

He felt someone pick him up by the neck of his shirt and lift him clear off the ground. Greg struggled to escape from his grip, even swinging his body in the hopes of kicking back at something, but then Gary came at him from the front and began to deliver devastating blows to Greg's chest and stomach. The bastard kneed him in the groin and Greg cried out as a sharp, shooting agony radiated in shockwaves throughout his entire body.

"_That_ was for your ex!" he barely heard Gary spit.

Mario threw him to the ground and Greg tried to crawl away when Gary grabbed him by the hair. "Where do you think _you're_ going, you homo whore!" he cackled. "Hey Mario, how about we take him somewhere more private. Have a little party. Homos like that sort of thing, don't they? Parties?"

This time, Mario's gigantic hand closed around Greg's neck and he couldn't breathe. They shoved him against a brick wall and Greg heard a bottle cork. "Let's fucking party!" he heard Gary roar and then he felt the bottle pushed against his lips. He clenched his teeth but Mario pulled at his hair, tipping it back and Greg spluttered as a foul, licorice-tasting alcohol poured into his mouth. He choked as it spilled back into his hair and down into his clothes. The bottle clanged painfully against his teeth and his jaw was forced open and the next thing he knew, the neck of it was being shoved fully into his mouth and he couldn't breathe.

"Yeah, that's it fag! Deep throat that glass cock!"

Though he couldn't feel it, the tears were streaming down Greg's cheeks as he choked, trying to beg them to stop, but all he could get out were anxious whimpers. He turned his head left and right then finally bit down as hard as he could on the bottle, the neck snapping off and spilling the rest of the alcohol over his shirt and jeans. He choked as he swallowed a bit of glass and spit the rest out in to Gary's face, catching his assailant in the eye. His mouth felt raw, filled with tiny cuts from the broken glass.

"_Fuck_!" he heard Gary hiss, and then he held up the other end of the broken bottle. "You're gonna pay for that, you fucking queer!"

But now, Greg had another issue to deal with: the alcohol was messing with his head. Everything was spinning as the broken bottle tore into his shoulder. Greg screamed at the top of his lungs, but the cry quickly diminished to a helpless sob.

"Light him up, Mario."

And then, his tattered mind heard something like wailing in the distance, banshees on the horizon, or maybe angels in some sweet chariot, come to carry him home. There were flashing lights and he heard Gary say something in anxious tones, but he couldn't make out what. Mario released him and he slowly slid down the wall, his head whirling, his vision going in and out of focus, blood oozing from his shoulder and his mouth feeling as if he had swallowed an entire beehive.

Somewhere, someone was yelling, and Greg's head lolled on his shoulders. Above him, he saw the sky, but it wasn't night like he had expected. It was blue, with clouds, which parted and he heard an angelic, feminine voice booming in his head.

_You're a Sodomite._

If he could, he would have started to cry. _I'm not,_ he argued against the voice. _I'm not, I'm just me, I'm just Greg, that's all._

_Faggot_, the voice spat. _Homo. Cock-sucker. Queer._

Internally, he begged the voice to stop.

Outside of himself, he heard another voice, deep and gruff, and as far from angelic as one could get. "Jesus Christ! Go around back! Suspects heading north on Heller Drive!" Someone was kneeling down in front of him, but by that time the alcohol had flown Greg far away from his own crime scene. "Greg? Greg, can you hear me?"

His voice grew more sluggish and deeper, as if someone was digitally slowing it down. He couldn't speak. His mouth was too cut up to speak. He felt the blood trickling out of the corners of his lips. He hard someone mention Sara. He heard someone mention Nick. He heard a lot of swearing. But it was impossible for him to put any of it into context.

Slowly, he was enveloped in white, and a warm angel with crystal wings and the perfect golden features appeared in front of Greg.

"Am I dead?" he asked.

"No," she said simply. Her voice was smooth and divine, and perfectly in tune, like a symphony.

"Am I going to hell?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing here?" Greg asked.

She smiled at him warmly and approached him, her eyes the deepest blues, and staring into them was like staring up into the night sky. All Greg could see was darkness, but he knew that somewhere beyond it lay so much more than that. She reached out and ran a loving hand through his hair. She said nothing, did nothing, but stroke his hair for a long time, and Greg felt obscenely tired. Slowly, he reclined onto his side and the angel began to hum a melody he recognized but could not place, a tune from his infancy that his mother used to sing as he drifted off to sleep. He hadn't heard it since then.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, feeling her warm, gentle hands, and then everything else fell away.

* * *

"Nick!"

Grissom's barking voice made Nick cringe, as if he had done something wrong. He turned to meet his supervisor, who looked bemused.

"What's going on between you and Greg?"

"Nothing," Nick muttered, truthfully. _Not anymore_.

"The lab techs are saying you two had a huge fight in the lab," Grissom elaborated. "They mentioned something about Bryce, but she refuses to say anything about it either. _What_ is going _on_?"

"Yeah, Greg and I had a fight, and yeah, Bryce's name may have come up, but beyond that, you don't need to know anything else."

"If it affects your work, I do," Grissom said. "And considering I just tried to ask Greg about his case and he completely ignored me, I'd say it's affecting your work."

"Well give us a day, then, and it won't," Nick snapped, a little hostile.

Grissom began to protest when he was interrupted by his phone. He looked down at it, then up at Nick again, as if deciding whether or not to answer it. Finally, he sighed, and did, a little tersely.

"Grissom."

Nick saw his face dissolve into warmth, and wondered who on the phone could cause that.

"Sara..."

_Of course_, Nick thought. But then, Grissom was tense again.

"What do you mean?... Do you know where he was?... What did he say? What did _they_ say?... OK. He couldn't have gotten far, he was just here ten minutes ago. I'll let Brass know... Calm down, I'm sure he's fine. I'll call you later tonight. Bye."

"What was that about?" Nick inquired innocently.

Grissom shrugged and dialed another number on his phone. "Sara said that she was talking to Greg on the phone when someone tried to mug him. She said that's all she heard before she hung up, but now she can't get through to his phone."

"A mugging?" Nick inquired. "Hell, Greg's gonna walk in here and report that himself in five minutes, I bet. Why'd Sara bother calling you?"

"I guess it scared her," Grissom said with a shrug, holding the phone to his ear. "Brass—" But apparently, the detective cut him off. Grissom blinked. "What?"

Nick wondered what Brass was telling his supervisor.

"Sure, I'll send Bryce on out to handle it," Grissom said. "Where is it?... That close?" And then, realization dawned on Grissom's face. "Brass, did they describe the victim at all?... No, forget about Bryce, I'll come out. See you soon. Bye."

"What'd he say?" Nick asked.

"Brass said a civilian called in an assault on the corner of Heller and Thompson," Grissom said slowly. "He needed a CSI to process the scene."

The pieces seemed to fit together in Nick's head and it was like he had just leapt into a frozen lake. "No..." he muttered skeptically. "Greg's not stupid. If someone tried to mug him and he couldn't handle it, he would just cooperate and report it. They'd have no reason to..." Panic began to set in. "I'm going with you."

"Not a chance," Grissom said, as he made his way swiftly past Nick.

"Your scene is five blocks from here!" Nick called after Grissom. "You know I can just follow you on foot!"

Grissom waved at him dismissively before heading into the locker room to get his vest and kit.

* * *

By the time Grissom arrived on the scene, the victim was already on a gurney and getting wheeled into an ambulance. Grissom couldn't see him clearly, but a lump formed in his throat. He found Brass, whose eyes were also on the victim as he made his way to the ambulance, barking at the paramedics furiously, telling them to be careful, to go faster, to watch him.

"Jim!" Grissom called, and the detective turned and Grissom noticed that his face was set, his lips were tight, and his eyes were dark.

"Gil," he saw Brass mouth, and the detective made his way over to him, gesturing at an alleyway where Grissom could already see some signs of a fight. "The scene's over there," Brass called over the sirens as he came closer to Grissom.

"Did you ID the vic?" Grissom asked, hoping against hope that it wasn't a name he recognized.

But Brass nodded, grimly. "If I'd had any idea, I would have never called you down here," he said.

Grissom remained impassive, but he had already come to that conclusion. "How bad is it?"

Brass sighed and shook his head. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and shrugged. "I don't know, they can't say yet," he told Grissom. "He was barely conscious when I showed up. His face was a bloody mess, Grissom, and his shoulder was stabbed by something, maybe a broken bottle, it was hard to tell with the EMTs trying to stabilize him. Some pedestrians overheard yelling and whooping, and called 911 when they saw what was going on. The sirens scared off the perps, but I have a few uniforms chasing them down now. There were two of them by the looks of it, one large, dark hair and skin, the other a little scrawny and pale. We're not too sure what went down here... or why."

"Well..." Grissom began, taking a deep breath. "The _what_ is where I come in. The why I'll leave to you."

He moved to go over to the scene when Brass gripped his shoulder. "Gil, I could call in days if you'd prefer."

But Grissom shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I'll be OK..." He trailed off as he saw Nick in his vest, flashing his badge at the officers and ducking under the crime scene tape. The Texan seemed to feel Grissom's eyes because he focused his attention on his supervisor and made a beeline towards Brass and Grissom.

"What is it?" Nick asked anxiously, looking from one to the other. "Is it Greg?"

Brass and Grissom exchanged looks. It was all Nick needed.

"Where is he?" Nick demanded, fervently. "I have to see him!" Brass's eyes drifted over to the ambulance, which was pulling away from the scene as they spoke and Nick followed his gaze. Nick turned back to Grissom. He was visibly distressed as his face contorted and his voice shook, but he desperately tried to control himself, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. "OK. What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to follow that ambulance to the hospital," Grissom stated frankly, "so someone can be there for Greg when he wakes up."

"You don't need me to process?" Nick sounded surprised and almost offended.

"I think I have that covered," Grissom told him. "All I need from you is your cooperation."

Nick looked lost. "Grissom, if someone hurt Greg—"

"Then we'll get them," Grissom interrupted. "But you're of no use to him here."

Nick looked torn as his eyes watched the ambulance turn the corner and vanish from his sight. He was breathing heavily through his nose before he nodded. "Sure. OK. You're right."

"I know I am, now go," Grissom ordered, and Nick took off.

"Smart move," Brass commented.

Grissom nodded. "I couldn't have him collecting evidence. He was obviously too distraught."

"And you're not?" Brass inquired with a curious raise of the eyebrow.

Grissom looked back at the scene, his face as stony as ever. "I'll let you know what I find," he said simply to Brass. "You deal with the suspects."

Brass nodded, recognizing a dismissal when he saw one, and moved back toward the crime scene tape, pulling out his phone. Grissom moved closer to the bloody scene, where he saw spatter patterns against the brick wall and the floor, as well as blood drops from something he had yet to determine.

There was a broken bottle rolling around on the ground, the neck of which Grissom couldn't find, but its jagged edges were dripping blood onto the pavement, so Grissom didn't need to think hard about what it had been used for. He knelt down next to the green bottle and took a look at the label. _Assenzio._ An Italian brand, illegal in the US. But Grissom wondered why Greg had been stabbed by that end of the bottle. Generally in bar fights when drunks decide to use their beer bottles as weapons, they grip the neck and shatter the body. The neck serves as a hilt, like a knife. It would be difficult to handle the body in the same way.

Grissom glanced around and saw broken bits of the green glass, some chunks that he was able to identify as a part of the bottle's neck. All of them were covered in blood and absinthe. He collected all of the glass that he could find and by the time he picked up the last piece, he realized his hands were shaking. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax. When he opened his eyes again, his hand was steady.

He noticed a frothy substance on the glass that was neither blood nor absinthe. He swabbed it, and added it to his other swabs of the liquids at the scene.

He sat back on his haunches and surveyed the alley again. _Why does it always have to be alleys?_ he asked himself. _Why does it always have to be my guys?_

He couldn't take it. He reached for his phone.

"Gil?"

"Sara," he breathed. "Why do these things always happen to us?"


	8. Ache

**_Author's Note:_** I have nothing to say, so I suppose I'll settle with keep up telling me what you think! I'm working on a doozy of an ending for this. It's gonna be awesome. Hope you enjoy! I think I'll do more Nick/Greg stuff in the future.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

The paralyzing pain dug its sharp fingers into the depths of his subconscious as he dreamed, and he had nightmares of skeletons and deformed angels, tossing him back and forth like a rag doll. At one point, a skeleton gripped him tightly and spun him around before kissing him with his skinless mouth, its teeth biting at his lips, and he felt as if his mouth was on fire. He struggled to get away and the skeleton crumbled into a pile of bones. Greg fell backwards into a lava pit, but rather than die he felt the heat wash over his entire body, the liquid rock carving permanent scars into his chest and shoulders, and creeping up across his face and into his mouth and nostrils until he couldn't breathe. Everything was so hot and he couldn't _breathe_—

The shrill _beep beep beep_ of some ancient audio torture penetrated his ear drums and he begged it to stop. Its rhythmic chiming was maddening and he twisted in his white linen grave, wishing for a way to silence everything, to stop everything, and find some place cool and soft where he could finally fall asleep.

The visions of demons disappeared and instead he saw a fiery red before his eyes, and a blinding light crept through the corners of his closed lids.

The piercing agony in his shoulder told him that he was wake better than an alarm clock. He couldn't feel is face. That loathsome _beep beep beeping_ sound was still present. He had hoped that it had just been a part of his feverish dreams. Regardless of his aching shoulder, he wanted to stay awake. To sleep meant to dream, and to dream meant to see the nightmarish skeletons and angels, and he desperately wished to avoid them again. So instead, and with great effort, he tried to open his eyelids.

The room was bright white, and sun was streaming in through an open window to his right. He was lying on a stiff mattress in a small room, and deduced he was in a hospital. He couldn't quite remember why at first. Why couldn't he feel his face? He tried to turn his head to look around, but his neck was stiff. So instead, his eyes darted right, then left, and rested on the sleeping form of Nick Stokes, who was hunched over a chair, his head resting on a nearby table as he drooled onto his arms. Greg might have laughed— if he could move his jaw.

He clenched his right hand into a fist to make sure that he could move at least one part of his body. He slowly moved his sore but woundless arm up to check his face, just to make sure it was still there.

His delicate fingers found heavy bandages that were wrapped tightly around his jaw and lips and around the back of his head. His fingers traveled up his face and traced the line where the bandages stopped, right below his nose. He moved up still further where he found the bandages began again above his eyes. He imagined he had a giant hole in the back of his head and the bandages were holding his brain in. He felt a bit like a mummy found in some ancient Egyptian tomb that had just woken up after five thousand years of slumber.

And then, like a nightmare that had been previously forgotten, the memories all flooded back to him. The mugger. Mario. The beating. The brick wall. The alcohol. The bottle. He closed his eyes and couldn't help but emit a shattered whimper behind his bandages, but he didn't make much noise with a closed jaw.

He wanted Nick to go away. Nick Stokes was the last person in the world he wanted to see at that moment. Greg was filled with too many conflicting thoughts, and if Nick said a word to him, Greg knew he would break down. He wasn't able to handle his relationship with Nick. And he wasn't ready to deal with the persecution from the public just for who he falls in love with.

Love. Did he love Nick? What would it mean if he did? He realized that there were too many uncertainties. Even though a part of him knew that what he had confessed to Bryce had been some sort of truth. And then, there he was, waking up in this hospital room, and thinking how incredible Nick's sleeping form looked, wishing he could wake up to that everyday. But after being humiliated in that alleyway, Greg wasn't sure if he could handle all the repercussions that came with that love. He didn't know if he could love Nick enough.

Something in the room buzzed and Nick stirred slowly, blinking hazily before groping at his hip for his cell phone. He didn't seem to notice that Greg was awake as he answered his phone with a yawn. "Stokes."

Greg might have smiled. As much as he didn't want to talk to Nick, he was glad to listen to his voice.

"Nah, he's still knocked out," Nick was saying, and his eyes drifted over to see Greg watching him. He tensed. "Can I call you back, Griss? Thanks." He hung up, and then immediately moved to Greg's bed. Greg wished he wouldn't come so close. Nick reached out, as if he wanted to touch Greg, but then withdrew his hand. He swallowed and forced a smile.

"I would ask you how you're feeling, but that seems like a stupid question," he said. "Not to mention the fact that you can't answer me anyway."

Greg tried to nod, but found it too painful, so he raised his good arm and waved instead. The small gesture made Nick laugh as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets and stared at the ground.

"I wanted to... to tell you that I'm sorry for what I said back at the lab. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. This is an issue I've been dealing with subconsciously for years, but you've never even..." He sighed. "I should have thought about you. But I don't like secrets, Greg, I think they're hurtful in the long run. That's all I was trying to say..." He reached out again hesitantly, his eyes scanning Greg's body, and then retreated again. Greg moved his right hand across his stomach and turned his palm face up. His eyes remained on Nick the whole time.

The Texan made a strange sound as he saw Greg move and he pursed his lips and nodded at Greg before stepping forward again and intertwining his finger's with Greg's. He looked up at Greg's eyes again.

"I don't want to lose you," Nick choked. "And when I saw you there, like this, for the first time, I nearly... Greg, I never meant to chase you away. Will you come back? Would you... would you take me back? We can do things your way. I won't try and... I won't say anything. If you want secrets, then I will keep your secret for as long as you tell me to. I'm... I'm yours, Greg."

He waited for Greg to give him a response for a long time.

Finally, Greg opened his hand and pulled it away from Nick, who looked petrified at the action. To emphasize his point, Greg closed his eyes.

Nick took a slow step backwards. "You mean..."

Greg squeezed his eyes shut, willing for Nick to go away before tears leaked out of them.

"You really want this then? It's over?"

Without opening his eyes, Greg waved at him to leave before his hand came up to his face and he covered his eyes.

_When I open my eyes, you will be gone,_ he said to himself over and over again. _Please, please, _please _be gone!_

He opened his eyes to an empty room.

_How about that? It worked._

* * *

It was all Brass could do to prevent himself from jumping the table and pummeling the smug bastard who sat there, staring up at him.

"What is your problem, huh?" Brass demanded of his suspect. "Do you just go around beating people up for fun? Because we caught a group of you guys two years ago and they're rotting in prison now."

"Nah, he was just special," the suspect spat.

Brass slid into a chair and opened his file. "Gary Roberts. Wanted for armed robbery and arson. And now, first degree assault."

"He was asking for it!" Gary protested. "Fucking faggot."

Brass's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Your little friend," Gary explained. "The guy we nearly torched. I think he liked that bottle down his throat a bit too much."

Brass kept his hands in his lap as they clenched into fists. "You don't know the good name you're slandering," Brass said evenly. "So I'd keep quiet if I were you."

"What do you mean? Because I called him what he is?"

"So this is a confession, I take it," Brass said icily. "Perfect. Where's your friend?"

The door to the interrogation room slowly opened and Bryce slipped inside and leaned against the door. "Brass, could I have a moment alone with this man, please?" she whispered softly. "We have something to discuss."

"This is an interrogation, not visiting hours at the prison," Brass told her. "Why don't you talk to him then?"

"Please?" she begged. "As a favor to me?"

Brass grumbled and pursed his lips, but nodded as he rose to his feet. "Behave yourself," he whispered to her, before he made his way out. He found Grissom watching them through the window and saw Bryce take Brass's vacated chair and lean across the table to speak with Gary.

"How's Greg?" he inquired.

Grissom shrugged and shook his head. "Nick has been with him all night," he said quietly. "I think he feels guilty about their fight yesterday."

"That's understandable," Brass muttered.

"Mm," Grissom intoned.

Brass frowned. "You think it's more to it than that?"

"I don't know, Jim," Grissom said with a sigh. "But they've both been acting strange since yesterday. And Bryce's lips are shut tight. She's afraid to say _anything_ to me, let alone anything about Nick and Greg."

"To be fair, you can't make them tell you anything," Brass said. "Unless it's interfering in their work."

"It is," Grissom told him. "They had a huge argument in the lab last night, distracting all of the technicians. And besides that, I'm concerned."

Brass nodded. "Just give them time to work it out on their own. If they don't, threaten suspension."

Grissom shook his head and folded his arms, a far-away look to his light blue eyes. "Have you seen him? He looks like a corpse."

"Believe me, what I saw at that scene was enough," Brass assured him.

"Surgeons, orthopedists, physiotherapists, dentists..." Grissom clicked his tongue. "He's seen more doctors in a day than I have in the past year."

"We're going through the motions," Brass sighed. "Déjà vu all over again."

Grissom buried his face in his hands. "I am so tired of this, Jim. First Nick, then Sara, then Warrick, now Greg..."

"Maybe you need to get out of the business," Brass suggested.

"Maybe I do," Grissom replied. "But that won't help _them_ any."

"You can't protect them, Gil," Brass said, shaking his head. "No matter how hard you try."

"I know that," Grissom admitted. "I just wish I could change it."

There was a crash in the interrogation room that drew Grissom and Brass's attention. Bryce had knocked over her chair and vaulted the table and she now had the perp up against the wall, struggling. Brass immediately burst into the room and yelled at her.

"Adams! Let him go!"

Reluctantly, she obeyed, but glared at him. "Don't forget what I said," she told him. And with that, she walked out.

* * *

Bryce leaned across the table after Brass left and glared at the man responsible for Greg's hospitalization. Gary recognized her immediately.

"You're the queer's ex!" he cried out. "Damn, I'd have thought you'd have been _happy_ about what I did for you!"

"What you _did_ for me?" she hissed furiously. "As far as I'm concerned, you're scum. You're worse than him in every way, because you're a coward. And I don't know if you had a fucked up childhood, or if you're just fucked in general, but let's get one thing straight. You did _nothing_ for me. You are a thief and a bully, and you aren't worth _shit._ That man that you hospitalized last night? He is worth _everything_ to me, do you understand? The world, the moon, the sun, the stars, and whatever the hell lay beyond that. _That's_ what Greg Sanders means to me, and you have _no right_ to go and try and take that from me."

"_You_ were the one who called him a faggot—"

She banged her fist against the table. "You don't get to use that word."

"But _you_ did!" Gary reminded her with a snide smirk.

"I'm not claiming to be any better than you," she whispered coldly. "In fact, I'm worse than you. I'm a bully too, you know. And I can kick your ass any day of the week. So listen to me very closely: you will not _touch_ Greg Sanders ever again. You will not say a _word_ about his sexuality. You beat him up because you wanted revenge on me. Tell them it's _my_ fault, but for the love of God don't you _dare_ call him a faggot again, or I will come in here and grab your tiny testicles, twist them off and feed them to you, so help me _God_ I will. I screwed up, but now I'm trying to make things right, and _you're _going to help me, whether you want to or not. Do we have an understanding?"

"I have no reason to respond to empty threats," Gary returned with a rat-like smile.

"You think they're empty threats?" Bryce said slowly.

"You can't do anything to me without losing your job," Gary told her, smugly.

Bryce stood up so fast, her chair fell over and she vaulted the table as Gary scrambled to his feet and backed up against the wall. Bryce pressed her forearm under his neck and her hand immediately seized his groin as she squeezed. Hard.

"Adams! Let him go!"

She released her grip on his testicles and he instantly relaxed, and let out an awkward gasp. She took her forearm away from his neck and glowered furiously at him. "Don't forget what I said," she snarled, and then she was gone.

His mouth agape, Gary stared at Brass. "That bitch is _psychotic_!"

"Yeah, well she's _our_ psycho. Sit down, Roberts. Tell me why you assaulted Greg Sanders, and who your accomplice is."

"You ain't getting no names outta me!" Gary told him.

"If you want, I can bring Ms. Adams in again," Brass suggested. "Maybe _she_ could get some names out of you."

Gary flinched. "This is harassment. I want my lawyer."

* * *

A week slipped by, and the dentist had removed Greg's mouth bandages a few days ago, so he could finally eat real food. Although, the scars in his mouth still made most things painful. He had terrible sensitivity to hot and cold, so most of his food was lukewarm, and ice cream was out of the question. What he wouldn't give for a nice double-scoop cone of rocky road...

Nick hadn't seen him since that first night, although the others had been over often. Catherine told him that she had baked him brownies, but that, since she couldn't bake for the life of her, she had burned them, and was too embarrassed to give them to him. So instead, she had given him a framed photograph of when they had celebrated him passing his proficiency exam. Warrick was toasting him with a glass of champagne, and Sara was hugging him while Catherine poured a glass for Nick. Grissom was standing by Ecklie, the proudest smile on his face that Greg had ever seen.

"Brass took it," she had told him, and though the detective hadn't been in the image itself, Greg thought about Brass every time he looked at it.

"Where did you find this?" Greg had asked.

"I've always had it," she'd replied. "I just never knew a good time to give it to you."

Grissom and Bryce had visited him fairly frequently as well. Although neither of them had mentioned how Bryce had acted towards the man who had put Greg there.

"You should have seen it," Brass had told him, a few nights after it had happened. "I swear, if I didn't think she might have killed him given the chance, I would have let her rough him up a bit more." Greg, his bandages still on, couldn't do anything but nod as Brass continued on about other news. But he had liked hearing that that, because it meant that Bryce still cared for him.

But no one talked about Nick, until Greg asked.

"He hasn't said a word about you," Grissom had told Greg. "Did you two have another fight?"

But now, he was alone in his room. Everyone else was on shift, busy at work, and they had no time to spare for him, now that he was on the road to recovery and out of the woods. Greg was fine with this. It left him time to catch up on his television watching. It bothered him that he kept thinking about Nick, though. He didn't want to keep thinking about Nick.

And then, there was a knock at his door. He turned off the TV, wondering who was there. And then, she opened the door and poked her head in, smiling when she saw he was awake.

"Happy Thanksgiving," she said to him.

Greg sighed. "Sara Sidle. You came all this way for me?"

"I would have come from the moon to make sure you were OK," she told him, closing the door behind her. "You look good. Considering."

"Don't lie, I look awful," Greg said with a laugh. "Dentist said it'll take weeks for the scars to fade in my mouth until I can't notice them anymore. Doctors say my shoulder's healing pretty well, though, and my head wound is pretty much nonexistent now. Have you seen the others?"

Sara shook her head. "I mean, Gil picked my up from the airport. But otherwise, no. I wanted to come see you first."

"Don't leave without seeing them, or they'll be pissed," said Greg. "Also... tell me how Nick is doing."

Sara frowned. "How come you can't just ask him yourself?" She pulled up a chair and sat down next to him in his bed.

Greg sighed. "I kinda... broke up with him."

"What?" Sara sounded more surprised at this than she had when Greg had told her they had kissed. "Why? I thought you wanted him back?"

"I... I can't do it," Greg sighed. "I'm not strong enough for this."

"What are you talking about?" said Sara. "You're one of the strongest people I know."

"That's funny," Greg replied. "I might have said the same thing about you."

"Do you love him?" Sara asked.

"That's a stupid question," Greg said, dismissively.

"No, it isn't," Sara insisted. "Do you?"

"It doesn't matter, because it's over," Greg returned. "You can love someone and still fail them."

"No, you can't," Sara said. "I mean, yes, theoretically that's true. Maybe an editorial 'you' can love someone and fail them, but not specifically _you_, Greg. I think you're excluded from that general category."

"Are you saying that I _don't_ love him?" Greg was aghast at her gall.

"I'm saying that if you did, you wouldn't be pushing him away like you are," Sara explained, her face serious. "What are you so afraid of? If you really love him, there wouldn't be anything keeping you away from him."

"Says the straight girl," Greg snarled cruelly. "You don't know—"

"I don't?" Sara interrupted. "I don't know that it's like to be in love someone but have something scary in the way, like gender, or age or status? Don't I, Greg?"

"You _don't_ know what it's like to suddenly be _gay_!" Greg finally yelled at her.

"No, maybe I don't," she conceded. "And to be fair, I never _can_ know what it's like to be a gay man. But I know someone who does."

"Don't even start."

"Too late, the idea is already there, planted in your mind." Sara took a deep breath and sighed. "You don't really want to fight with me, do you, Greg?"

"I don't really want to fight with anyone," Greg told her. "And still, fights happen."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "I spent five years dealing with someone as afraid of relationships as you are. And it took him five years to realize exactly what he wanted. Don't make Nick wait five years, Greg. Because the world is a crazy place and one of you could be gone by then, heaven forbid. Nick knows that, all too well for someone so young. I know that. Even Grissom knows that. The only one that doesn't seem to know that is you, which _baffles_ me, considering you could have died a week ago. You've already taken the first step. Have you slept together yet?"

"_Sara!_"

"It's a valid question," Sara protested. "Have you?"

The way Greg's lips pursed answered her question for him.

She smirked. "Alright. You see? There's no going back from that."

Greg raked a shaking hand through his hair. When he spoke, Sara was surprised to hear his voice tremble as well. "I just... I don't want to be... _that guy_."

"What guy?" Sara probed.

"I can't explain it," Greg muttered. "You know... that guy... The... the hate crime victim."

"Oh," Sara said suddenly. "You're afraid that..."

"I was humiliated in that alleyway," Greg explained, shivering. "They taunted me. Shoved a bottle down my throat and said I liked it. Threatened rape. I just..." He closed his eyes tight and the tears were trailing down his face. "It just made me so scared. They made me feel like I was dirty. Like I was wrong. Like I deserved it..."

Sara reached out suddenly and clasped his hand tightly. "Honey..." She held her breath, as though wanting to say something comforting, but Sara Sidle seemed to suddenly be out of words. She forced a smile and stroked his hair, lovingly. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

Greg sniffed. "Yeah, well, unless Gary said anything, then none of the others know," Greg whispered. He frowned. "Actually, Brass hasn't mentioned anything to me about a hate crime."

"Maybe there wasn't enough evidence to rule it as one," Sara suggested.

"You think they'd be proud," Greg commented, with a side of ironic laughter. "You know. Beating down a queer. That's how they acted. Like they were proud of themselves. Like they were having fun."

She squeezed his hand tighter. "I'll ask Brass—"

"Don't," Greg said quickly. "If he doesn't want to talk to me about it, maybe he's too uncomfortable. Maybe they've all figured out what it means by now and they're afraid of me. Maybe they know about Nick, too. Maybe he told them. He seemed anxious enough to tell them last week."

"Grissom didn't mention it to me when he drove me here," Sara said.

"Maybe it was an awkward subject for him."

"No subject is too awkward for Grissom," Sara said with a fond, almost proud smile. "He tells me everything."

Greg suddenly looked intrigued. "Really?"

"He's not as mysterious as you think he is, once you get to know him. _Really_ get to know him." She winked.

Greg rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well... I don't know. I don't know, I don't know..." He buried his face in his hand. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

"Do I have permission to talk to Nick on your behalf?" Sara asked.

His hand slid down to reveal his eyes, which were giving her a cynical _don't-be-stupid_ look. "This isn't middle school. I don't need you to ask him if he'll forgive me, and relay the message back to me."

"I wasn't planning on it," Sara said. "I didn't know you wanted his forgiveness."

He took a sharp intake of breath, but Sara had cornered him. "I... I don't, I just meant—"

"All _I_ meant," Sara continued, "was that I'd ask him about your case. Why Brass hasn't tried to get it classified as a hate crime."

"Oh..." Greg said slowly.

"I may also mention you, and how I think he should see you," Sara said casually. "But I don't know where conversations will take us. I cannot be held accountable for what I may or may not say about you." She smirked.

"I have no control over who you talk to," Greg said. "But I can tell you, if you try to tell him I want him back—"

"Oh, no, no, no, of course not," Sara said vehemently, shaking her head. But she still had that mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Sara..." Greg said warningly.

"What?" Sara returned, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

Greg sighed. "Look. Nick doesn't even know that I told you anything, so just... Seriously, be careful what you say."

"To be fair..." Sara began slowly, "I think he'll enjoy having someone to confide in."

Greg rubbed his eyes again. "OK, whatever," he breathed. "I give up. I'm tired of this. Nick already hates me. I don't think it'll matter _what_ you say."

Sara rose to her feet and beamed down at him, shouldering her purse. "Are you gonna be OK here alone for a while?"

Greg waved her away. "Go on, get out of here, I'm sick of you already."

Her smile strengthened and she leaned in over his bed and her lips lightly brushed his forehead. She moved down closer to his ear, and whispered softly, "If you love him, then nothing should stand in your way. Ever."

She rose, standing straight again, and gave Greg one final nod before exiting the room and leaving him all alone.


	9. Cigarettes and Open Air

**_Author's Note:_** I just finished this story today. It was strange, because I actually felt like it took a lot out of me at the end. I haven't felt that for a story in a long while. It's a good sign.

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
**

Grissom sighed as he searched through the database for anyone resembling Greg's description of the second attacker. As Greg couldn't speak until a few days ago, this was new information that they could use. At first, Grissom had thought it would be simple, to find a man named Mario with a build like Greg described. But apparently, this guy eluded a criminal record. _Everyone was probably too intimidated to ID him before,_ Grissom thought to himself.

There was a knock at the door and he looked up and smiled to see Sara leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey, you," she intoned.

"Hey. How's Greg?"

"He'll survive," she replied. "Just a bit shaken by the whole thing. Have you seen Nick?"

"I think he's with Catherine comparing notes on their case," Grissom replied. "Layout room six."

She nodded. "Thanks." But she lingered in the doorway. "Grissom..."

"Yes?" he asked. He was facing her, but his eyes remained on the screen as it provided list of "Marios" in the system.

"I was wondering..." Sara began slowly. "How come no one's pushing for a hate crime classification on Greg's case?"

This seemed to gain Grissom's attention, and he turned and blinked at her. "Because the motive isn't there. Gary Roberts attacked Greg to get revenge on Bryce for humiliating him earlier that evening."

Sara was about to protest, but closed her mouth quickly. "Oh," she said instead. "Really?"

"Why?" Grissom asked suspiciously.

"I don't know," Sara returned. "I mean, it was pretty brutal, that's all."

"What would the motive be?" Grissom pressed. "Greg is a middle aged white American, and so is Gary Roberts. Greg described this Mario guy as being darker skinned, but there's no suggestion that this was racially motivated."

"No," Sara said with a smile. "Of course not. I was confusing it with another case."

"Another case involving Greg?" Grissom pressed. "How could you confuse this case with any other?"

"I just did," Sara replied simply. "Sorry." And with that, she ducked out, leaving Grissom to ponder at her probing.

* * *

Sara made her way down the hall of the crime lab, going through this new information in her head. Gary must be trying to save his own ass by claiming it wasn't a hate crime. She could fix that.

"Brass!" she called as she saw the detective pass.

He seemed very happy to see her. "Sara Sidle! Grissom told me you were coming to town! How are you?"

"I'll be perfect if you let me talk to this Gay Roberts guy," Sara replied.

"Sorry," Brass said, shaking his head. "Last time I let someone do that, Roberts ended up getting shoved against a wall. I'm afraid his lawyer has barred me from doing anything like that again. Unless you want to visit him in prison."

"Maybe I will..." Sara wondered aloud. "You seen Nick?"

"With Catherine in layout four," Brass replied.

"Grissom said layout six," Sara said slowly.

"Grissom can't count," Brass returned.

Sara smirked. "Thanks, Jim," she said. "We should have dinner sometime."

"Only if you're buying," Brass replied. "Listen, I've gotta get out to a scene. I'll talk to you later."

"Definitely," Sara agreed, and she moved down the hall, looking for layout four. On her way, she passed layout six, and checked inside just to make sure. "Oh, sorry," she said to the young girl in there. "I was just looking for someone."

"It's not a problem," the redhead replied. "Can I help you find them?"

"No, I think he's in layout four. Thanks."

"You're looking for Nick, then?" the girl inquired.

Sara frowned, then opened the door and stepped inside. "Are you Bryce Adams?"

The girl seemed a little unnerved. "I feel bad. Have we met before? I don't remember you."

Sara extended her hand. "I'm Sara Sidle," she explained. "I left about nine months before you showed up."

"Oh, you're Grissom's girl," Bryce said, nodding in understanding. "Yeah, actually, I've seen your picture on his desk."

Sara chuckled, a dozen thoughts swirling in her head at once. She wanted to ask Bryce if everything Greg had said about her was true. But instead, she said, "Hey, I'm taking a poll. What do you think about gays and lesbians?"

Bryce blinked a few times. "That's kind of a personal question to ask someone you just met."

"Call it curiosity," Sara replied. "I'm asking everyone."

Bryce smiled, awkwardly. "I don't really have an opinion on the subject."

"Why not?" Sara pressed.

"I don't feel it's my place to judge," Bryce explained.

"So you don't like it," Sara deduced.

Bryce held her breath, then sighed. "I've offended you, haven't I?"

"No, no, no," Sara said quickly, shaking her head. "I wouldn't be taking opinions if I was offended easily. Why not?"

"Well, I've been thinking a lot about that, actually," Bryce replied, thoughtfully. "I mean... recently an event in my life has sort of _forced_ me to reevaluate things a little and I... I don't know, I mean, I know that it's against the general order of things, and I know that it's against our survival instincts and is a detriment to the species, and to be honest it just feels... _gross_ to me, but what do you do when you meet one? I mean, you know, someone who's gay? How do you act? Obviously _they_ don't think it's gross, or wrong, the opposite, really. What can you say to them to make them understand how uncomfortable you are on the subject?"

Sara nodded, a small satisfied smile on her face. "What made you reevaluate these things?" she asked boldly, knowing she was entering into personal territory.

Bryce bit her lip a moment. "I realized that if..." She stopped. "No. Never mind. I don't want to talk about this."

"Fair enough," Sara said, nodding. "I need to find Nick."

It was then that the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together in Bryce's mind. "Wait... What's _your_ opinion on the subject?" she asked as Sara was in the doorway.

"Me?" Sara returned, with a raise of the eyebrow. "Oh, I think there isn't enough homosexuality in the world. I think we need more, actually. Less breeding like rabbits, more loving like humans. And also, they do have a fabulous fashion sense, and make great dancers, wouldn't you say?"

Bryce's jaw dropped and Sara smirked as she closed the door and left her that way.

Sara continued down the hall until she found Nick and Catherine in layout room four. They both raised their heads as they heard the door open, and Sara watched them both beam at her.

"Well it's about time you showed up again," Catherine said, sounding self-righteous as she folded her arms.

"Sara..." Nick breathed with a smile. "It is great to see you."

Sara nodded. "And the same to both of you," she greeted. "It seems I can't leave you guys alone for too long without someone getting into trouble." Nick's smile faded a little, but Sara turned to Catherine. "Would it be OK if I could borrow him for a few seconds?"

"Go for it," Catherine said, shuffling her papers. "I think we're done here. See you after shift, Nick." And then, Catherine was gone.

Sara eyed Nick curiously. "What's going on after shift?"

"We're all going out for breakfast," Nick explained. "Hey, you should come!"

"No," Sara said with a shrug. "I think I'm going to be having breakfast with Greg. It's probably pretty lonely in that hospital room."

Whatever remnants of a smile that had been left on Nick's face suddenly fell away. "Yeah..." he muttered. "It probably is."

Sara watched him for a long time. "You haven't been to see him in a while," she commented.

"Why, does he miss me?" He sounded spiteful when he said it, as though he doubted it.

"I would ask what's going on between you two," Sara began slowly. "But I already know."

He frowned. "What do you know?"

"About you. About him. About Bryce. I am all-knowing," she told him as she lowered herself into a chair.

"He... told you?" Suddenly, Nick seemed afraid. Sara noticed him wrap his arms around himself, as if trying to shield himself from her. And then, he was instantly suspicious. "Or is this just a ploy to get me to spill my guts?"

"You should know I'm not that devious, Nick," she whispered. "He loves you, you know."

With those words, Nick collapsed into another chair. "He tell you that?"

"Not in so many words," Sara said with a shrug. "But I can see it in him."

"Did he tell you that he pushed _me_ away?" Nick asked. "Did he tell you that it was _his_ decision? That I wanted him to take me back?"

"Yes, he did," said Sara.

"Then what makes you think he loves me?" Nick queried.

"I just do," Sara said simply. She narrowed her eyes and smiled. "Do not question me. I am all-knowing, remember?"

Nick scoffed. "Seriously, Sara. It's over. I get that. Whatever. We'll deal."

"Listen..." Sara began, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her knees. "For some reason, probably to save his own ass in the courtroom, Roberts hasn't told Brass the whole story behind Greg's attack. And while I'm pretty sure Greg wouldn't want me telling you this... Actually, there are a _lot_ of things I'm pretty sure Greg wouldn't want me telling you, but... Well, what happened in that alley scared the hell out of him. He is absolutely petrified, like a child after a vivid nightmare in the middle of the night and his parents aren't home. He's pushing you away, but it has _nothing_ to do with you."

"What are you talking about?" Nick asked. "What is he afraid of?"

"He's afraid of what his relationship with you says about him," Sara explained. "He's afraid of being the victim all the time. He's afraid of words. He's afraid of..." She took a deep breath. "He's just plain afraid. OK? And he needs someone to help him feel safe again. You can't just let him push you away."

Nick's brow was furrowed in confusion. "What exactly happened in that alley that I don't already know about?" Nick asked. "What did he tell you?"

Sara rose to her feet. "You'll have to ask him yourself."

"Not a chance," Nick said. "I'm not going back there. I can't face him again. Not yet. Not looking the way he does."

"He looks a lot better now than he used to, or so I'm told," Sara said. "He can talk now, you know. His lips move and everything."

"I wouldn't know what to say..." Nick said, shaking his head.

"Stop making excuses," Sara ordered. "Just go over there and see what happens."

"Did he ask you to come talk to me?" Nick asked, suspicious again.

She laughed. "I asked him if he wanted me to, but he said no. No, I'm doing this all on my own. Consider it prying, or meddling, or whatever you want, and I'm sorry for that. But the truth is, you _both_ needed someone to slap you and bring you back to reality. Because you're both acting like scared kids."

"I'm not scared," Nick said stubbornly.

"You are," Sara said, nodding. "Just of something completely different than what he's scared of."

"And what's that?"

"Letting him down."

Nick was quiet. "You're not as all-knowing as you think you are."

"Maybe not," Sara agreed. "But it wasn't a bad guess, was it?" She rose to her feet and dusted her hands off. "Look. I was going to go down to the prison and have a little chat with Roberts to see if I can get him to tell me what really went down in that alley. But now that I think about it, maybe that's not such a good idea. Because if I do that, it'll just put you and Greg in an awkward position that you can't handle right now. So... I think I'll head over to the hospital again. Sit with Greg a while. I hope to see you there."

Nick said nothing as he stared at Sara's vacant chair. She turned to leave and looked over her shoulder at him, waiting for him to speak, to say anything at all, but he just sat there, staring at the chair. With a sigh, she opened the door and left.

* * *

Nick remained pensive for the rest of his shift. He said very little to his friends when they went to the diner that morning for breakfast. Only Bryce seemed to notice his brooding, though she said nothing herself to him. She found her gaze gravitating over to his general direction often as the morning progressed, but kept participating in the light-hearted conversation between Catherine and Grissom.

"I don't know though, maybe you'll have to ask Nick."

Nick seemed to jolt at the mention of his name and looked left to find Catherine watching him with an expectant smile. "What?"

"About that witness at our scene," Catherine explained. "The one that was flirting with you like crazy."

Bryce, who had been sipping her water at the time, suddenly choked, distracting everyone from Nick. Grissom, who sat next to her, patted her on the back as she recovered.

"You OK?"

She was smiling, and tried to cover up her impromptu laugh. "Yeah," she said, catching Nick's eye. "I just... Went down the wrong way. You know."

Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and smiling at Catherine. "Yeah, she was pretty cute."

Bryce stifled another laugh and Nick shot her a look. She closed her eyes and nodded, trying to let him know that she would try to behave.

"Is there something wrong, Bryce?" Catherine asked, sounding quite sincere.

Bryce forced herself to sober up. "No. I mean... I had to sneeze. I think I may be coming down with something." She saw Nick's eyes were still watching her and again tried to communicate a muted apology by meeting his gaze and pursing her lips.

"Did you get her number?" Catherine asked, turning back to Nick.

Nick looked at Bryce a moment, but her lips were still pursed. "Uh... No. I think that's a bit inappropriate."

"Of course it's inappropriate," Catherine said. "But it's still flattering."

"Yeah, well, she wasn't really my type," Nick replied.

And then, Bryce couldn't help it as she clapped her hand around her mouth.

"Bryce, do you want to go take a cigarette break?" Nick asked pointedly, icily.

"No, I had one before we came in," Bryce replied coolly.

"Well, I need one," Nick said, surprising Catherine and Grissom. "How about you keep me company outside for a moment?"

"Nicky, you smoke now?" Catherine sounded astonished.

"Only when I eat," Nick replied. "Bryce?"

She knew she couldn't avoid it, so she agreed, and she and Nick slid out of the booth and made for the door. Though she knew it wasn't about cigarettes, Bryce fumbled with her pack.

"I don't want one," Nick said, holding up his hand.

Bryce glanced back through the door to the diner, before taking a cigarette out for herself. "Just keeping up the pretense," she mumbled as she lit it. She took a drag and exhaled. "So what's up?"

"Would you quit laughing?" he demanded. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I just think it's hilarious. I can't help it."

Nick grumbled. "Well, I don't think it's funny. So would you cut it out?"

"Only if you can change the subject if Catherine brings up you and girls again," Bryce replied evenly.

"Why is it so funny to you anyway?" Nick asked. "I've been with girls before you know."

"But you're not very interested in them, are you?" Bryce returned.

"I don't know..." Nick muttered. "There have been some girls that I really cared about."

"But did they get you hard?"

"_Bryce!_"

"Sorry, sorry..." she chuckled. "Seriously, though. Were you really _attracted_ to them?"

"That's a complicated question."

"Is that a no?"

"It's a 'mind your own business,'" Nick snapped.

Bryce nodded. "I deserved that. How come you haven't been to see Greg in a while?"

"What did I just say about minding your own business?" Nick hissed.

"You two didn't have a falling out, did you?" Bryce asked.

"I'm going back inside," Nick said, rolling his eyes.

"OK, OK," Bryce sighed. "I'll mind my own business."

"Good," Nick said, beginning to open the door.

"Hey, Nick, wait..." Bryce said suddenly.

He paused, and looked at her curiously. "What is it?"

"You've been pretty spacey this morning," she explained. "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"No. Least of all with you."

She nodded. "OK. I understand that. But, um..."

"Spit it out, Bryce."

"I'm sorry."

Nick was silent. The apology was heavier than it seemed. "For what, exactly?"

"Everything," she explained. "What I said to Greg last week... How I've been treating you, which is coldly, in case you haven't noticed. Spitefully. Resentfully. Mockingly—"

"I get it," Nick broke in.

"Well, I'm sorry for all of that," she said sincerely. "I don't... I don't want to come between the two of you. I've decided that much. I mean, I still think it's weird, but... I can't keep interfering just because I might..." She coughed. "Just because I might have issues with your specific type of relationship. Or because I might..." She held her breath. No. She couldn't admit that to Nick. "I'm just sorry. I won't stand in your way anymore. I'll be civil. I'm... I'm happy for you." She felt the tear clinging to the corner of her left eye, but smiled in an attempt to force it away. She wasn't happy for them, not really, not as happy as she claimed to be at least, but still, she knew it needed to be said. "I really, really am."

He watched her for a full minute it seemed before he smiled and embraced her. She returned it gratefully, because he was warm, and he was tender, and he was strong. _No wonder Greg prefers him to me._

Nick pulled away from her. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice full of respect. As if he understood the effort it had taken her to say those things to him. As if he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth. As if he knew everything, and he appreciated her actions all the more for it. But that was impossible.

He opened the door and stepped back into the diner, but Bryce lingered outside for a moment as she took a long drag off of her cigarette and held the smoke in her lungs a little longer than she should have. _Let it poison me, infect me, spread nicotine and tobacco and carcinogens to every fiber, every cell, every pore... Let it strike me dead where I stand._

After waiting a moment and finding that nothing happened, she exhaled, disappointed.

_Cigarettes. They'll kill you eventually, but never when you need them to._


	10. Dogs

**_Author's Note:_** I have been moving out of my old place into a new place, so I have been very, very busy. But once again, thanks to LaughableBlackStorm for the beta and all that jazz. And THANK YOU SO MUCH to those who review, if I could send you money I would. And about Bryce, it's OK to dislike/hate her. Things happen. Serves me write for focusing so much on an "OC" ;o)

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

He stood outside of the door, his feet planted to the ground, staring at the silver round doorknob that he had yet to hold. He was afraid, in a way, that if he touched it, it might electrocute him. He was afraid of a lot of things, he realized. Like entering that room, and facing Greg.

He swallowed, his whole body tense as he reached for the doorknob. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, and relying on improvisation hadn't worked in the past, but he couldn't just stand there and make up excuses anymore. If he waited too long, it might be too late. He needed to act now. He needed to do something. Because as much as he was loathe to admit it, Sara was right. He wasn't ready to give Greg up without a fight.

Steeling his courage, he held his breath and opened the door.

Laughter greeted his ears, and in the brief seconds before they had noticed any disturbance in their perfectly happy conversation, Nick watched them laugh. Sara's fork hovered over her plate as she guffawed at a joke Nick would never know, and Greg was nodding at her, as if assuring her that whatever he had just said was the God awful truth.

And then, simultaneously, they both looked up, and the jovial mood vanished.

Sara was the only one still smiling at that point as she set her plate down and rose to her feet. "I'll leave you two to your own devices for a while," she said quietly. On her way out, she squeezed Nick's shoulder and whispered, "Good luck," into his ear.

Nick stood there, several feet away from the foot of Greg's bed as the younger CSI watched him warily. For a moment, neither of them spoke, quite possibly because neither of them knew what to say. The silence became so taxing that it came to a point where Nick didn't even know why he had come there in the first place. He wanted to whirl around and slam the door and never look back. He wanted to back to a life where he had only ever slept with a man once, and it was in college and could be explained as "experimentation," no matter how much he had wanted to do it again since.

Of course, Nick had never told Greg the truth of that deadly encounter. Perhaps now was the moment.

"I lied to you."

Greg blinked. "About what? Being gay?"

"No."

"Oh," Greg said, sounding almost disappointed. "Well... it would have made sense if you had. It probably would have fixed everything. If you just stopped being gay and started sleeping with women and forgot all about me again. Maybe you should try doing that."

Nick recognized this as Greg's way of telling Nick to leave him alone. "I lied to you about the first man I was with."

"It wasn't your TA?"

"It _was_ my TA," Nick clarified. "But it wasn't just once. And I didn't lose touch with him after he got married."

Greg's curiosity overwhelmed his antipathy. He shifted in his bed and eyed Nick inquisitively. "Oh?"

Nick sighed, and realized his body was shaking. "He was sort of like me. You know, growing up in the conservative household, the idea that homosexuality was unforgivable drilled into his skull... It's one reason he got married so fast. He wanted to prove himself wrong. But by his own confession, he couldn't stop thinking about me. And while he indulged in our mutual fantasy whenever things got too strained with his wife, our relationship slowly began to strip away his sanity until he didn't know _what_ he wanted anymore. So one day he told me to meet him at this café. It was the same place we normally met up at. So I met him there, and he was acting a little odd. But every time I asked what was wrong, he brushed me off. Until I realized he was driving me back to his place. We never went there, because of his wife. We never knew when she might come home. But he assured me that she was gone. He didn't say where, he just said she was gone. I didn't know why at the time, but that answer really bothered me." Nick stopped, his mind lost inside his memories.

Greg had to probe him. "What happened? Where was she?"

"Dead," Nick said suddenly. "She was dead. Shot in her own living room after a huge argument, according to Sean. That was his name, by the way. But by the time I saw her there, on the couch, he was pointing the gun at me."

Greg seemed to sit up a little straighter.

Nick continued. "I tried to talk him down, but it was no use. He told me it was my fault. That I had ruined all his best laid plans. That I had forced him to shoot his wife. He said that I was the devil, trying to lead him astray, and he needed to beat me once and for all. And I was so terrified that he would do it, that he'd shoot me, until he pulled a trigger and we both heard the dull click. And then, he seemed to realize what he was doing. He had left the safety on. A fluke accident was the only thing that saved me from being shot. In a daze, he fell into an arm chair that was covered in his wife's blood. He told me that he couldn't defeat me. He told me that I had won. He asked me..." Nick struggled to keep his voice steady. "He asked me if I was happy. And then, right in front of me, he took off the safety and shot himself."

Greg was quiet as Nick finished and the Texan closed his eyes, imagining he was somewhere else, telling this story to his bedroom wall, or a palm tree, or a friendly-looking snowman. Anything but the living, breathing man that rested in that hospital bed. He wondered about Greg's thoughts, and when the younger man would voice them and put him out of his misery.

And then, Greg spoke. "Why are you telling me this?"

Nick slowly opened his eyes to look at Greg, the only man that had made him feel anything other than numb since Sean. "Because you deserve to know."

"No I don't," Greg said, shaking his head. "Maybe I wasn't clear last time, on account of I couldn't talk, but what I was trying to tell you was that it's over. For real. No take backs. No do-overs. It's done. I can't do it. And you don't owe me _anything_. Least of all… that. You shouldn't have told me that."

"Then you should have stopped me," Nick argued.

The tiniest of smiles tugged at Greg's lips. "Touché…"

"You wanted to know," Nick continued. "Don't pretend like you didn't."

"I was curious," Greg admitted. "But I had no idea that by the end of it, you'd have me feeling so guilty. And I'm assuming that was your true agenda."

He sounded bitter and accusatory, and Nick was suddenly frightened again. "What? No! I didn't—"

"Then why did you tell me?" Greg inquired.

"Because—" He wasn't sure. And then, he remembered something Sara had told him. "Because I'm scared too. What happened with Sean scared me half to death and this whole thing with you has been petrifying, but exhilarating, and I want it back. I need you, Greg."

"What do you mean, 'too'?" Greg was skeptical.

"I don't know what you're so afraid of, but I know that you're terrified of something," Nick said, daring to take a step closer to Greg. "I wish you'd tell me what it is, so I could—"

"So you could what, Nick?" Greg interjected. "So you can protect me from it?" Nick opened his mouth to retort when Greg cut him off. "Don't deny it. You said so yourself that you had this insane urge to protect me. Protect me from _what_, though, I don't know. You were never very clear. Everything, maybe. The big bad world and all the evil it holds. Pain. Humiliation. Fear. All of these ambiguous, incorporeal entities that you cannot fight, no matter how hard you try. You cannot protect me, Nick. Not from anything. Because even if you keep all of the bad guys away from me, I'll still find a way to feel pain. To humiliate myself. To be afraid of something. Maybe be afraid of you, even. And you can't protect me from that."

Nick wanted to run, but his feet wouldn't move. He took a few deep breaths through his nose before he responded. "I can try."

"You will fail," Greg told him.

"Then I'll keep trying."

"You already _have_ failed!" Greg pressed, his anger suddenly flaring. "I don't want any part of this, Nick! It's… It's…" He seemed to grasp for the word until he finally burst out with, "It's a _sin_."

Out of every other word Greg had chosen to hurl at him, _sin_ was the only one that seemed to pierce him in the jugular. All of a sudden, his throat constricted and he couldn't breathe. He was lightheaded and nauseous all at once and everything was suddenly very cold.

"Coming here was a mistake…" he choked out. "You're not the person I thought you were. Sara was wrong."

"What did Sara say?" At the mention of her name, some of his fury seemed to have subsided. Or maybe he noticed exactly how badly he had wounded Nick with his words.

Nick rubbed his throat to open his airways. "Nothing. It just… It made me think that maybe you cared about us enough to… But now I see, she was clearly wrong. She has horrible intuition, I should have seen it when she was wrong about what I was afraid of. But I see it now. I… I see it…" He stumbled to the door as he spoke until he found the silver doorknob, his life preserver, his guillotine. And without even a goodbye, he left.

He saw Sara waiting outside of the room with a smile and momentarily wanted to snap her neck in half to wipe the smugness from her eyes.

"Well?" she inquired.

He glared at her. "You shouldn't meddle in things you don't know anything about," he growled, and then abandoned her alone in the hall, looking dumbstruck.

* * *

Sara left again a few days later without saying very much to Greg. The last time he spoke to her, she seemed a little upset with him, but she wouldn't address why. As for Nick, Greg hadn't seen him since that morning where he had called their relationship a sin.

Reflecting back on the conversation, Greg realized that it had been a poor choice of words. Still, he was glad to finally have chased Nick away, for the moment at least. They would have to work together. They may even have to act chummy, so no one detected that anything had gone wrong between them at all. Even though it was over, they both had the secret to keep. They would for the rest of their lives.

And so with Sara back in California and Nick hating him, Bryce was the one to drive him home from the hospital.

Greg sat in the passenger seat of her car and watched as rivulets of rain trickled down his window. The radio was off, so the only sound he heard was the _swooshing_ of her windshield wipers. She spoke on occasion, trying to spark a conversation of some sort, but Greg often ignored her, or brushed her off with an "Mm hm," or "Right." He wasn't sure where to go from where he was. He still had dreams about Nick. Horribly tantalizing dreams that made him jolt awake in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and painfully aroused. But he had successfully beaten back thoughts of Nick during the day, so he was sure that he could eventually control his dreams as well. And then, maybe he would be normal again.

"So are those scars really annoying?" Bryce's voice floated into his thoughts.

He turned his head to look at her. "Which ones?"

"The ones in your mouth," she explained. "I mean, if I even get a cold sore, my tongue won't stop running over it. Those things have got to be driving you crazy."

"I'm used to them by now," Greg muttered.

"How's your shoulder?"

"It only hurts when it's raining."

"So does it hurt now?"

"Like a bitch."

Bryce was quiet for a moment. "I know what they did to you, Greg."

He scoffed. "No, you don't," he whispered. "You think you do, but you don't."

She seemed to accept that. "You're right," she said. "I don't."

She said nothing when they pulled up outside of his apartment and she put the car in park. But he didn't move. He was watching her. There was something peculiarly different about her and it was bothering him that he couldn't figure out what it was. Her hair was bright red in the afternoon sun that shone through the driver's side window. It danced across her pale white arms with the smallest, almost invisible freckles. Her delicate fingers were clutching the wheel of the car as she stared out the windshield, as if she were still driving down the road. After a moment, she turned to look at Greg and her hair fell lightly across her chest.

"What?" she asked at last, wondering why he had yet to leave her car.

"Nothing, I just..." He blinked. She was so much different than Nick was. She was smaller than him, for one thing, and her pallor was a stark contrast to his tan skin. Most notably, though, she was a woman, and Nick most definitely was not. She was the opposite of everything that he had come to find attractive. Weeks ago, she had left him cold, and he had concluded that his feelings for her did not run as deep as he had previously assumed from their flirting. The flirting. That part, at least, had been very fun. He missed flirting with her.

But weeks ago, he had been distracted by Nick's lips. The idea of having strong, secure arms embracing him, comforting him, instead of him embracing someone else had appealed to him, maybe because he had wanted so badly to be held. But now, he wasn't sure what he wanted.

Finally, he whispered, "You're beautiful."

Her lips parted in a silent gasp as her eyes searched his. But then, she closed her mouth and licked her lips. "I think you should go home now, Greg."

He agreed. He was far too confused to do anything he'd regret. He opened the car door and stood up. He glanced back through the window to find her eying him intently. He made his way to the door to his apartment building and fumbled with his keys, which fell to the floor. Without thinking, he reached for them with his left arm and something snapped. He winced and seized his shoulder with his right hand as the pain shot through him. He heard a door slam and running footsteps.

"What happened?"

"Think I pulled the stitches—it's no big deal, I can handle it."

"Here, let me help you..."

"I said I can handle it."

Nonetheless, her arms slid beneath his and she hoisted him to his feet. They were inches apart.

_Don't do it,_ his conscience told him. _You've put her through enough. Don't break her heart again just because you need a rebound lover._

But he stared at her then, this woman, this girl, supporting him as he fumbled with his keys, and she was staring back. He could only guess at her thoughts. But all he wanted to do was run his fingers through her long red hair... He hadn't done that to anyone in a while. He hadn't realized how much he missed long hair.

_Don't do it, you bastard. Don't lead her on. Don't make her believe that there maybe something more than friendship between you._

He broke away from her and put his key in the lock and turned it. He moved to go inside of the hall and considered checking his mail. But he couldn't leave her like that. On his way inside, he turned, initially intending on just thanking her for the ride, but instead he found himself flying towards her, his arms sweeping her up and into the air as their lips embraced. She felt tiny in his arms, and he thought that if he squeezed too tight he might break her, but he needed her, more than he needed anything else at that moment, and it was all he could do not to snap her spine in two.

_You are a selfish liar._

Greg ignored the voice in the back of his mind as he spun her around and inside of the apartment building. The two of them barely broke contact, stumbling down the hall between soft kisses, their arms entangled in each other, and Greg leaned against the buttons of the elevator before pushing her against the doors and devouring her, his lips following her neck to her pale bony shoulder. Her skin was silky, like rose petals, and she smelled like one too, so much so that it intoxicated him and he momentarily forgot where they were when the doors pulled open behind her and they stumbled into the elevator and back against the wall.

His hands crawled beneath her shirt, determined to map out these new territories, exploring every curve, every fault line, every peak and valley of her body. Her leg crept up the side of his thigh and she threw her head back as his lips drew lower, barely touching her soft skin, and when he breathed he left goosebumps in his wake.

They had been so distracted that they had forgotten to hit the button, and Bryce said nothing as Greg continued in his exploration, as if he had never before felt a woman's body so intimately. _But you have..._ he reminded himself. _A woman's, and another man's. Remember him?_

_Shut up,_ Greg told himself, his lips reaching the neckline of her shirt.

His hands forced her shirt up, and she cooperated, throwing her arms into the air as Greg pulled it over her head. His fingers traced the waistline of her jeans and he fumbled with the tiny metal tab of her zipper, when her hands suddenly flew down and caught his wrists in a vice grip. Unable to proceed, he finally looked up at her to see what was going on.

Bryce was staring at him with frightened eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this," she said.

"You don't want to?" he asked. "Because if you didn't want to, you should have said something earlier."

"No, that's not..." She closed her eyes and swallowed. This seemed to be really hard for her. "Do you... do you really want this? Really?"

He had to be honest. "I don't know what I want anymore."

She pursed her lips. "And Nick. What about Nick?"

"That was a fluke," Greg said. "A mistake. Nick's a great person, but I'm not... I'm not into him like that."

The fear in her eyes intensified. "Oh my God, you _do_!"

He didn't understand. "I do what?"

She pushed him off of her and immediately reached for her shirt and used it to cover her chest. "You love him, don't you?"

"What?!" Greg's voice shot to new heights. "How the hell did you get that out of what I just said?!"

"I was a cop, remember," Bryce told him. "I'm trained to notice when people are lying."

"I'm not lying!" Greg exclaimed. He forced himself to calm down and changed tactics, becoming softer, more tender as he reached out and softly caressed her arm. "Come on... Come on, Bry... I need this. I need you. Please, B. Please. I just want to be normal again."

She was trembling as she hugged her shirt tightly to her chest and shook her head. "No, I was wrong..." she said. "I was wrong. I've been wrong my whole life..." She quickly put her shirt back on just as the elevator stopped somewhere. Neither of them had realized that it had even been in motion.

The doors opened and an older woman entered the elevator casually with her small Yorkshire terrier. She didn't seem to feel the tension that had materialized in the air between Bryce and Greg as she pressed the button for the ground floor. In fact, she didn't even seem to acknowledge that Greg and Bryce were there at all.

The two colleagues—friends—lovers—Greg wasn't sure what they were at the moment other than two people, confused and scared, trying to relearn their place in a world they used to know so well.

And, then she spoke. "You do love him."

"I beg your pardon?" said the woman, confused. "Are you speaking to me?"

Though Greg knew exactly who Bryce was speaking too, Bryce smiled and nodded. "I can tell," she explained. "Look how finely groomed he is." She knelt down and let the terrier lick her hand.

"Ah, yes, he's my pride and joy," said the woman.

Bryce looked up and her eyes locked with Greg. "I know. You know, sometimes you can just tell these things. The way a person's voice changes when she talks about him. They way her eyes always have that glazed look when she's thinking about him. Or the way she... the way she hesitates when she tries to tell him that she doesn't love him."

The woman chuckled, amiably. "Now why would I say something like that to my puppy?"

Bryce's eyes remained on Greg. "Because maybe... just maybe... she knows he can never love her back. Not in the same way, anyway. Not really."

The elevator arrived and the doors opened and the woman tipped her hat at Bryce. "You are a very sweet girl," she said to her. She glanced at Greg, who was standing still in the corner, and then leaned down and whispered something in Bryce's ear before her dog tugged on his leash and led her out of the elevator.

Bryce rose to her feet. "Fourth floor, right?" she asked, pressing the button. He nodded. The doors began to close when Bryce's hand shot out and stopped it. "This is where I get off," she whispered.

"What did that woman say to you?" Greg asked.

Bryce favored him with a worn and tattered smile as she stepped out into the hallway. "She said that dogs are easy. But men are hard."

And with that, the silver elevator doors closed, and she vanished, leaving Greg alone with his amorphous thoughts. When the doors opened again, they revealed the familiar corridor that led to Greg's apartment at the end of the hall. He contemplated every step. He carefully placed his foot down heel to toe as he made his journey down that hallway, his mind a swamp of foggy ideas and possibilities. Had he really wanted her? Or had that voice inside of him been right all along? Had he just been using her to comfort himself after what happened with Nick? Was normalcy and heterosexuality the only thing she represented to him?

Or did he really want her?

Did he?

_Did he?!_

Greg couldn't figure it out. He didn't know. He didn't know who he was, what he was, where he stood on anything. All he knew was that she smelled like a rose garden, and exploring her had felt safe and sure and sweet. With her, he was always sitting on one of those bench swings surrounded by rosebushes which were perpetually in bloom, humming old familiar lullabies as the breeze carried him back and forth. All he knew was that Nick tasted like bitter cooking chocolate, the kind his mother told him not to eat when he was little, but he always sneaked a taste when she was gone. He didn't like it at first—it was sharper and much less sweet than he was used to—but he ate it anyway, probably just _because_ his mother had told him not to, and because it was chocolate, and it made him feel like he was dancing naked in the rain. It was daring, it was defiant, and it was silky smooth and released endorphins the likes of which he had never experienced before.

Roses and chocolate. What a romantic conundrum.

By the time he reached his door, Greg knew what he was going to do. Stepping inside his apartment, he leaned against the door and pulled out his cell phone. He hit three on his speed dial and held the phone to his ears.

Of course, all he got was an answering machine. "_Nick Stokes. Talk at the beep._"

"I know you're avoiding me, not that I need to ask why," Greg fired off rapidly, without even identifying himself. If he didn't say it all now, he knew he never would. In a way, he preferred the answering machine. This way, Nick couldn't interrupt him. "Some of the things I said at the hospital were not very... OK, they were flat out cruel. Wrong, too, by the way. I'm all wrong in my head without you, Nick. I want to talk to you about what I'm afraid of. Aw, hell, Nick, I'll just settle for talking to you about _anything_. I miss you. I miss... I miss touching you. Listening to you. Smelling you, tasting you, being with you... in... in every way. I just miss you. And I'm sorry. For being a..." He laughed. "Well, for being a dick, for lack of a better term. And if you haven't hung up on this message by now, then call me back. Call me soon, because I want to see you. So please, just call me back. Or just come over. Just give me something I can work with. Please. _Please_, just..." He wanted to say it. He tried to say it, but his tongue couldn't quite wrap around that soft, luscious consonant, that _L_ sound, that word, that phrase, that universal truth of all things. The idea that kept pulling him back to Nick no matter how hard he tried to escape its massive gravitational pull.

Still, he couldn't say it.

"I miss you, and I'm sorry. Please call me back."

So he hung up.

And he waited.

He waited for a very long time.


	11. Ghosts

**_Author's Note:_** This chapter is kind of short for me, but I think you can handle it. An extra heaping thanks to the very detailed review from happyharper13. It made my day, which was mostly spent moving from one apartment to another. Rock on. Those of you anxious for a little Nick/Greg action may be slightly appeased by this chapter. ;o) Also, Greg's dream sequence was HIGHLY influenced by Prior's in _Angels In America_, the scene in which he asks Louis if he's real and Louis replies, "No, just spectral. Lost to myself. Spending my days on cold park benches, wishing I could be with you." I love that scene.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

He dreamed that he was perusing through a wild garden, which had at one time been tame and obedient. But now, it had become an entity all its own, no longer the property of whoever had created it. Its brightly colored flowers bloomed all year round and the weeds—dandelions and clovers, mostly—had become as important as the lilacs and the daffodils which had been intentionally planted there. He found himself lost in an untrimmed hedge maze, the flowers egging him onward, whispering words in a language he did not understand. He needed to find the center. Something was waiting for him at the center. He met plenty of dead ends, and there came a point that he thought that maybe he would never reach the center. And then, he turned one last corner and discovered his prize.

Nick Stokes' back was to him, but Greg could tell that the Texan was wearing a tux. Greg took a step, the vines and twigs cracking loudly beneath his feet, making Nick turn. In his hand, he held a single rose in full bloom, a vibrant red color which put all other shades of red to shame. Greg felt as if there was a rope attatched to his chest, slowly but steadily pulling him towards his tuxedo-clad friend until they were inches apart, and Greg tossed his arms around him, burying his face into the nape of his neck and inhaling his spicy, musky scent.

He felt Nick's strong arms rise to return the embrace, and somewhere, a slow melody began to play, and Greg found himself swaying to the music as he and Nick began to dance.

"I was worried you wouldn't come back," he whispered into Nick's neck.

Nick said nothing as they continued to dance, and Greg held him tighter, refusing to let him go.

"I love you. I love you so much it scares me. Everything about you scares me. But I think that's a good thing. What is love worth, anyhow, if it's boring?"

He felt Nick's chest rise and fall against his own as the Texan laughed. "I love you too, G."

Everything was perfect. Greg wanted nothing more than to just revel in their close proximity. Under the night sky, in their secret garden where no one would ever find them, they were safe, and they could be themselves, and Greg wanted to hide there forever. Nick's hands traveled up and down Greg's back, soothingly. The Texan began to hum along to the music and Greg felt the vibrations in his own chest, as if he were humming too. As if Nick's voice was Greg's voice.

"I can't stay," Nick whispered suddenly, into Greg's ear.

"But... But I said it," Greg began nervously. "I said I love you." His hands clenched into fists against Nick's back and he tightened his grip on the man.

"It's not enough," Nick told him.

"Why?!" Greg demanded. "Why isn't it enough? What do I have to do to keep you?"

Even though Greg was holding Nick as tight as he possibly could, the Texan somehow managed to break out of his grip as he handed Greg the rose he had been holding. It had withered during their dance, and it was now a very deep purple, its petals crinkled as it drooped.

"I don't understand..." Greg began, holding the rose. "What does it mean?"

Nick's eyes were swirling, like the sky before a hurricane. "We never know the truths we keep from ourselves, until the battered winds of cold and callous circumstance sweep in and strip us bare. We cannot hide from the monster's eyes when it takes her away from us. Then, everything will be known. There will be no more secrets. Not even from yourself."

A piercing noise crackled in his ears, slicing shrilly through his garden, cutting down the hedges, and Nick was suddenly gone. The noise however remained, even as his entire perfect world was left in broken, bloody shambles. It came and subsided in periodic bursts, like angry waves washing up on the beach during a violent storm.

Greg found himself groping for something on the vine-covered ground of his garden, and then his hands gripped something cold.

He groaned as he opened his eyes and found himself on the couch, his phone vibrating in his hand. It was dark. He didn't even remember falling asleep. He held the phone to his ear. "Sanders," he greeted, assuming it was Grissom, even though his supervisor _knew_ he was taking the night off.

"Greg."

He was instantly wide awake as he inhaled a curt gasp. "Nick?" He dared to hope.

The Texan stuttered, sounding anxious. "I... I miss you too."

Greg heaved a huge sigh of relief. "When can I see you?" he breathed.

"Actually, I'm outside," Nick told him. "I got your message a while ago, and I've just been sort of driving around aimlessly for the last couple hours trying to figure out what to do. It took me a moment to realize that I had been driving circles around your block. I took that as a sign."

Greg was already on his feet and heading towards the door, his heart pounding madly inside his ribcage. His hand seized the doorknob and he threw the door open to see Nick standing there. The two men looked at each other for a moment before they each lowered their respective cell phones and slowly gravitated towards each other. Greg found his arms sliding up and around Nick's neck as the Texan's arms curled around his waist, his burly, tender hands resting securely on Greg's back as their lips met in a soft, savory sweet kiss.

Greg never realized how much he loved chocolate.

His hands crept up Nick's neck and ran through his short, bristly hair as he moved backwards, leading Nick inside and closing the door behind him. They took things slow, relishing every second they were together as Greg ran his hands up and down Nick's tanned and defined arms. Nick grasped the hem of Greg's shirt and tugged it upward and Greg only took his hands off of Nick to get his shirt off, but then they were on the Texan again, his fingertips traveling over familiar territory. He realized he had finally come home.

Somehow, and Greg would never figure out _exactly_ how, but they ended up in his bedroom, and Greg slowly reclined on the bed, looking up at Nick standing over him. Nick reached down and pulled off his own shirt before slowly descending upon Greg. His lips moved down Greg's neck to his chest, and Greg softly groaned.

"I missed you so much..."

Nick didn't reply, but his hands did grip Greg's hips tightly at the words, his mouth between the bottom of Greg's ribcage and his navel.

But Greg's hands moved down to grip Nick's shoulders and he massaged them gently before sliding his hands up Nick's neck and into his hair. One hand continued downward to cup his chin and tilt his face upward so he could see Nick's eyes.

Nick watched him with questioning eyes. "What's the matter?"

Greg said nothing, he simply smiled, his chest swelling with joy as he lightly stroked Nick's short hair. "I want this to last," he explained. "I love... having you here with me."

Nick smiled and pushed himself up, resting his hands on either side of Greg's shoulders as he hovered over him, his knees straddling Greg's thighs. "I'm glad you called," he breathed, resting his forehead against Greg's. He leaned in and gently kissed Greg's lips with his own, and that was when Greg lost himself. Somewhere between Nick's lips and his cotton sheets, he had disappeared, and wherever it was he had vanished to was warm, and safe, and soft—the garden, maybe—and he was finally where he knew he was supposed to be.

* * *

She returned home early. Her shift tonight had been particularly taxing, and not just because of her pitiful conversation with Greg earlier that day. Catherine had enlisted Bryce's help when her rape case turned serial. She had asked Bryce to go in and collect evidence from a surviving victim. Speaking with the girl had been very difficult for Bryce. She had seen a lot of herself in the girl's shattered blue eyes. Bryce had difficulty dealing with living victims. It's one reason she couldn't make it as a cop. She had preferred dealing with the corpses. She didn't need to wonder what they would do next, because they were dead. They weren't going anywhere. But she worried about that girl. Would she ever be the same again? Would she ever let anyone touch her again? Could she cope? Could she handle it? Or would she turn out like Bryce's college roommate freshman year and hang herself from the rafters?

Nina was probably the main reason Bryce found rape victims so difficult. Bryce realized that it wasn't herself she had seen in the victim's blue eyes so much as Nina. Nina Parker, that quiet girl who mostly kept to herself and studied, until her roommate had urged her to go out and have a little fun. Nina Parker, freshman physics major who made the mistake of going out to a college party and waking up in the middle of the quad the next day with only half her clothes on. Nina Parker, that fragile girl that no one paid attention to, not even her assigned roommate, until the day she removed a panel in the ceiling of her room and wrapped her computer cable around her neck.

Bryce never forgot Nina. Bryce didn't like the rape cases. Bryce needed a beer.

She opened the door to her apartment, dreaming of the frothy, cool bottle of Dead Guy Ale that waited for her in her fridge. She didn't used to buy the brand until she had a bottle of it over at Greg's place, the night they had slept together. When she had searched for it in the liquor store, she hadn't found it, and she had to ask the clerk where she could purchase some. He had told her that Dead Guy was an Oregon label, and she would have to special order it. So she did. And now, it was her favorite label. While she knew that other labels were better quality—specifically, Belgian ones, which she had been partial to before—drinking Dead Guy always provided fond memories of Greg.

She pushed the door open and dropped her purse on a nearby chair, making her way to the kitchen. She rounded the corner when something blunt rammed into her stomach and she stumbled backwards, into something breathing.

She didn't even have time to scream before she felt something sharp shoot through her abdomen like a lightning bolt. For a moment, she wondered if she had been shot, but she hadn't heard a sound. And then, it tore into her again, ruthlessly, and a third time, and she gasped for air, choking, drowning... She gripped her side, feeling something hot spill into her hands like liquid fire, and heard the clatter of something falling to the floor. Her knees gave out under her weight and she slowly slid down the doorframe until she was sitting on the side of her thigh. She saw something silvery crimson glinting in the moonlight which streamed through the window. Lights. She needed to turn on the lights.

She fell forward onto her stomach, trying to crawl towards the counter, remembering that her cell phone was in her purse. She tried to think through the agony that was tearing through her now, and she felt something wet pooling beneath her. She ignored it, desperately trying to reach her landline which was by the fridge.

And then, someone stepped on her leg, halting her in her tracks. She rolled over to see her attacker but all she could see was a shadow. She gasped, trying to ask him what he wanted from her, rape being the first thing on her mind, probably because of the case from earlier. But she couldn't form the words. Her brain was overpowered with the fireworks and scorching heat of the pain. Finally, she was able to gasp, "Why...?"

"Gary sends his regards, pretty lady," said a low, accented voice that Bryce didn't recognize as Gary's.

"Mar... Ma..." _Mario_.

He laughed. "That'll teach you to threaten people, eh?"

He turned to go, but Bryce wanted him to stay. At least then, she would have someone to keep her company as she died. She reached after him, stretching out her side and she screamed as the pain tore through her again, like a dog whose jagged teeth were permanently clenched in her stomach. But he was gone, now, long gone. And she couldn't move, not without making things worse. She looked back at the fridge. The phone was there. She needed to pull it down. She needed to...

Lie down. Lie down, lie down, lie down, go to sleep, dream of butterflies and a cartoon masquerade...

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, and the Dead Guy on the label of her beer materialized before her very bewildered vision. She wished he could talk, and he did.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked her.

"The phone..." she gasped.

He looked to where she was reaching. It was a strange sight, a walking, pale gray skeleton with a noose around his neck holding a mug of beer, talking to her. She realized then just how morbid the name "Dead Guy Ale" really was. _Dead Guy Ail,_ she thought, grimly amused by the pun. _Sickness of the Corpse._

"You can't reach that from where you are," said her hallucination. "Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

She couldn't speak, so she nodded. He reached for the phone and his bony fingers moved right through it. He didn't seem very disturbed by this. Instead, he crouched down next to her. "I'm sorry I can't be of any help to you. But as you can see," he gestured to the noose, "no one helped me either."

A strange antipathy rose in her chest then for the spirit. "Go away," she spat between aching breaths.

"You don't want me here," the Dead Guy observed. "You would prefer another face. Maybe..." He morphed before her eyes, his features softening, his noose vanishing, his pallor improving. "Him?"

She let out a stifled sob. "Greg..."

He began to softly stroke her hair, looking down on her with loving eyes. "Everything will be OK, Bry. You'll see. You will."

She smiled through the course tears blazing trails down her cheeks. "It hurts..."

"Sh," he hushed her calmly, as if she had just awoken from a nightmare. "You're with me now. You're safe."

She believed it. "I don't want to die."

He smiled and took her hand in his. It was warm and calloused and exceptionally comforting. It was almost enough to take the pain away. "I love you, B. I always have."

She sniffed. "Sometimes it is nice to be lied to."

He bent over and softly kissed her lips. But she couldn't feel a thing. Her body had gone numb.

"It won't be long now," Greg breathed, continuing to stroke her hair tenderly.

A sharp ringing broke into her thoughts and Bryce's eyes snapped open. She was lying on her side on her kitchen floor. She had passed out somewhere by the fridge. She had no idea how long she had been there for. The ringing continued. She tilted her head up. The cord to the phone hang low over the cabinets. She realized, with hope swelling in her chest, that someone was calling her!

She tugged on the line and there was a clatter as the phone and its receiver tumbled to the tile. The receiver lay off the hook and she dragged her body closer to it, gasping for air. She didn't care who was calling, she just had to get her message out.

But when she spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. "Help..."

She heard someone saying her name on the other line. It sounded calm at first, then confused.

_Hey, Bryce, it's me... Bryce?... Hello? Hellooooo?_

"I'm here..." she choked, desperately trying to be heard. "I'm _here_, please... help..."

She pulled herself closer to the phone and gripped it with her bloody hand, forcing it to her ear.

"She's not answering, maybe we got discon—"

"_Help._" It was a simple, basic, one syllable word, and she spat it out with all of the strength she had left.

The voice sounded anxious. "Bryce?!"

Had he not _heard_ her? Was he _dense_? Through gritted teeth, she said it again. "_Help!_"

"Bryce, what's going on? Are you OK?"

Yup. He _was_ dense. "Come... please..." She spluttered and coughed and was horrified to see blood on the receiver. "_Now_!"

"Are you hurt?!"

She wanted to roll her eyes. _No, numbnuts, I just finished my workout routine that makes me gasp for air and cough up blood!_ But instead, she only groaned, the pain overwhelming her verbal skills.

"OK, listen, I'm coming over. Nick, call an ambulance."

_Great. Finally, he gets it._

"I'll be there soon, Bry. Just hold on..."

His voice began to fade away as she lost her grip on the receiver. She stared at the place where her floor met the base of the cabinets. The horizon tilted and she was exceptionally light headed. She took deep breaths. _Just hold on..._ She tried to stay awake. _Just hold on..._ She closed her eyes. _Just hold on..._

She dreamed...

_Just hold on..._

She dreamed of—


	12. Judgment

**_Author's Note:_** So another short chapter. But not because I don't have the material. More because the next chapter is kind of long, so it makes up for it. I've finished writing this, I just haven't been posting because I've been moving, my folks are in town, and my brother graduated from college yesterday (about damn time, it only took him seven years). At any rate, here's chapter twelve.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Greg's head rested on Nick's chest as he stared at himself in the mirror by his dresser. He liked the image that was reflected in it. Nick was reclined in Greg's bed, beneath Greg's sheets, his arm resting protectively across Greg's shoulders. Currently, his eyes were closed, and his chest visibly rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

But Greg was too stimulated to sleep. Being with Nick was like taking a hit of ecstasy that went straight to the brain, except there was no come down. He was content at last, something he hadn't felt in weeks, not since the last time they had been together like this, which also happened to have been their first time together ever. And after he had told Nick that it was over, he had dreamed of the Texan nightly. But now, he didn't have to dream anymore. Nick was there, with him, beneath _his_ sheets, sleeping in _his_ bed.

This was how things were always meant to be.

He traced the lines in Nick's chiseled chest with his fingers. _Dogs are easy. Men are hard._

_Very_ hard, Greg thought wickedly, and chuckled at the thought.

But the phrase made him think of Bryce. After all, those were the last words she had spoken to him, and a sudden pain invaded his chest and coldly twisted his stomach. _Bryce_. He desperately wanted things to be OK between the two of them. He had grown very fond of her over the months they had worked together, and he wanted to retain that friendship, no matter what complications may have cropped up between them.

_She said she loves you._

_But not in so many words,_ Greg answered himself. _She never really actually _said _it._

_You really are an idiot. You led her on. You broke her heart. And now you expect her to want to be friends with you?_

And he knew it was true. He _was_ being an idiot. He hadn't been fair to her. In all these months, he had never once been fair to her. That needed to change. Now that she knew who he was, he would be honest with her. Completely honest.

_I'll call her tomorrow,_ he decided with a yawn as he moved closer to Nick. The Texan moved slightly in his sleep and let out a grunt-like snore. It made Greg smile.

_Call her now_, his pesky conscience told him.

He considered it, then closed his eyes. _She's on shift,_ he reasoned. _She's busy._

_If you want to be honest with her, why don't you start now?_

He opened his eyes. He knew that in the morning, he would still find more excuses not to call her. His conscience was right. He should call her now.

Reluctantly, he rolled away from his human pillow and towards his bedside table where his cell phone was. He dialed Bryce's number and it rang several times before he reached voicemail. He hung up.

_You see?_ he told his conscience. _She's busy._

_Call the office. This is important._

Greg whined inwardly. He didn't want to call the office. It was all too convoluted. What if she was out in the field? Or what if she was with Brass and a suspect.

_Would you stop making excuses and just try the lab?_

So, with a tired sigh, he did. Judy's voice greeted him. "Las Vegas Crime Lab. How may I direct your call?"

"Judy, it's Greg," he said. "Is Bryce at a scene? If not, could I maybe talk to her?"

"Bryce went home early today," Judy told him.

_That's odd,_ Greg thought. "But graveyard's short two CSIs tonight already. Why'd Griss let her go?"

"It's a slow night, and Catherine suggested it," Judy told him. "Something about a hard case."

_Now you should _really_ call her,_ said his conscience. _She may want to talk about it._

"Do you have her home number?" he asked Judy.

"Um, just a sec..." said the receptionist. He waited a minute. "Yeah. 555-0190."

"Thanks, Judy, you're a doll," he told her and hung up.

He dialed the number from memory and it began to ring. It was after the fourth ring that he thought maybe she was asleep by now, and he'd be waking her up. He was just about to hang up when he heard a click.

"Hey, Bryce, it's me," he said, and then waited for her to greet him. But she didn't. "Bryce? You there?" Again, no response. "Bryce? Hello? Helloooooo?"

"What is it?" Nick murmured rolling over in the bed.

"I'm trying to call Bryce," Greg explained. "But she's not saying anything. I think we got disconnected..."

But as he said the last word, he heard something on the other end of the phone. It was barely a voice, and sounded distorted, the ghost of a word flickering against his eardrums. "_Help._"

He was confused, and a little unnerved. "Bryce?!"

Again, that spectral sound. "_Help!_"

Now he knew something was wrong. Nick seemed to know it too, because he sat up in the bed and watched Greg quizzically.

"Bryce, what's going on? Are you OK?"

Her voice drifted into his head, broken and scratchy, like an old vinyl recording. "Come... please..." He heard a gruff, spluttering sound and his heart skipped a beat. And then, she added, "_Now._"

He was in shock. He needed more than that. He needed to know what was wrong. "Are you hurt?!" Wow, what a stupid question. She let out a low, agonizing groan and Greg began to panic. "OK, listen, I'm coming over," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and grabbing his clothes. Nick was up too, now, watching him. "Nick, call an ambulance," he ordered, and Nick nodded and reached for his own phone.

Greg tried to pull up his jeans until he realized he'd put them on backwards. He furiously stripped them off again and hopped on one foot toward the door as he put them on properly. "I'll be there soon, Bry, just hold on!" he told her. He had to hang up to pull on his shirt. He tugged on it a little before running out the door, barely registering that Nick was shouting after him. He took the stairs, because it was faster, and quickly found his car in the underground garage. He leapt inside and began to pull out.

And all he could think was, _Aren't you glad you didn't wait until the morning?_

* * *

She opened her eyes, feeling the energy draining out of her three wounds. However, her heart continued to beat, no matter how erratic that rhythm was. She heard footsteps. She prayed for peace, for help, but it wasn't a paramedic's feet she saw stride calmly into the kitchen. They were black sneakers with white laces and a white cap on the toe. She wore white socks, too. But one of them was pulled up to her knee, whereas the other lay bunched down at her ankle. Bryce recognized those shoes. She remembered borrowing them once and losing them at a wild frat party after a couple boys had tossed her into the pool, all in good fun. She had returned home with only one sneaker, which was soaking wet and drenched in chlorine.

Yes, she knew those shoes very well.

The girl crouched down and tilted her head to the side as if she were examining a specimen. Her dark hair fell down in a silky curtain as she looked at Bryce.

"Hello, roomy."

"Nina..." Bryce breathed, the tears streaking down her face. "I'm so, so sorry..."

"It wasn't your fault that you knew how to act at parties and I didn't," Nina replied evenly, icily, accusingly. "You were the wildflower and I was the wallflower. What an odd couple we were, huh?"

It seemed like a stupid thing to apologize for, but she wanted Nina to hear it. "I'm sorry I ruined your shoes. I'll buy you new ones. I swear, I will. Better ones. I'll buy you three pairs, if you want."

Nina moved to sit on her knees in a pool of Bryce's blood. "I don't care about the shoes, Bryce. You never talked to me unless it was to ask for help with your homework or to borrow my clothes. When I came back from that party, you didn't even ask me how it went. Why I didn't show up back at the dorm until six o'clock the next morning. When I started to cry into my pillow—quietly, so I wouldn't disturb you—you just rolled around in your bunk and said—"

"Quiet, I have class in three hours," Bryce whispered.

Nina nodded. "You didn't really care about what happened to me. Did you, Bryce?"

"I'm sorry..." Bryce repeated. "So very sorry, Nina. I didn't know how to deal with people like you."

Nina cocked an eyebrow. "People like me?"

"The shy type," Bryce explained. "I wasn't used to that. I should have asked you what was wrong. Why you were crying. How the party went. What happened. I should have gone after those boys myself and kicked their asses for what they did to you. I should have snapped their necks in half. I am so sorry I didn't want to be your friend. You could have used a friend."

"But not a friend like you," Nina whispered. "A friend who calls the man she loves a faggot."

"That's not me anymore..."

"Maybe not on the surface, but deep down you know it is," Nina hissed coldly. "You know you still think he's disgusting. You still think he's weak, that he's wrong, that he's twisted. You think that he is a _faggot_, and all the evil that comes with that name. You know you do. And if you think that about someone, you can't _possibly_ love him."

"Please go away," Bryce begged. "Please, it hurts, I don't need this."

"You do, Bryce, and I'm going to tell you why," said Nina. "Because you are about to die. You are about to stand at the gates of heaven and tell St. Peter that you fucked a faggot, and he _still_ preferred men to you. You're going to tell him that you drove your roommate to suicide because she had nowhere else to turn. You're going to tell him that you were responsible for Greg Sanders' brutal beating in that alleyway, because you told a perfect stranger that he was a queer. It's time for you to face your sins, Bryce. And... as a _friend_..." She sneered hideously. "I just want to make sure that you're prepared for that."

Bryce choked on her on sob and gasped as she tried to control her breathing. "I'm so scared, Nina. Tell me that death finally brought you peace. Tell me that you're OK now. Tell me that you don't hurt anymore."

Nina began to stroke her hair with a sad smile. "Oh, poor, pretty little Bryce... I'm perfectly at peace," she whispered. And then, her hands clenched and wrapped Bryce's hair in her tight fist. "You, on the other hand, will _always_ know pain."

Bryce cried out, and it echoed in her apartment. She heard someone banging on her door, and muffled sounds of a voice, but she didn't want anymore visitors. She wanted to die in peace. She wanted to be left alone. She didn't want to be haunted anymore.

There was a crash somewhere outside of the kitchen, but Bryce barely registered it. She couldn't feel her legs. Her whole world was spinning. She heard running footsteps, and then someone gasped.

She didn't move. She could feel that she was so close to losing everything, to tumbling over the edge of the cliff into that great big black unknown.


	13. Revelations

**_Author's Note:_** I'm listening to Dashboard Confessional a lot more... I listened to them while I edited this. I would say the theme song for this is "The Secret's In The Telling." And... that's all I will say for now. As usual, R&R svp.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

He'd needed to break the door down because Bryce wasn't answering his yelling. He heard her cry out and followed it through her living room, pushing open doors, searching for her, needing to find her, and then he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

He halted in his tracks, gripping the doorframe to keep from fainting as he inhaled sharply. The kitchen tiles were covered in a bloody trail which led from where he stood at the door all the way to the base of the refrigerator where Greg saw Bryce's limp body. She was lying on her right side with her back leaning against the fridge, her arm stretched out beneath her head and her knees curled forward a little. Her left arm was draped across her stomach, and her eyes were closed. For a moment, Greg thought that he was too late, that she was already dead, and the nausea began to churn in his stomach as his eyes began to sting. But he had to know. He had to be sure.

Careful not to step in the blood, he slowly entered the kitchen calling her name quietly, waiting for a response. But there was none.

"Oh Jesus, that's a lot of blood..." Greg muttered nervously. He kneeled down in front of her, his hand hovering over her right wrist to check for a pulse, but he was afraid that he wouldn't find one.

And then, he noticed the tiny way her body trembled and he let out a shuddering breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. He was on his knees in seconds, hoisting her into his lap, cradling her head and shoulders in his arm as he pushed back her hair from her sweat-drenched face. He whispered her name softly, reverently, feeling like he didn't deserve to speak it. "Please, please wake up..." he begged.

Her eyes were moving behind her lids as her chest rose and fell. He held her tighter, his free hand searching for her wounds, wondering what he could do to save her. He needed to save her. They had already lost Warrick, and Greg didn't think they could handle losing anyone else. Greg didn't think _he_ would be able to handle it. He moved her shirt up, which was soaked and crusted with blood and cleaned away the red from her pale stomach. He saw bruises, but no incisions, and realized he needed to look elsewhere. But where was she bleeding from? Her shirt was the reddest piece of clothing she was wearing, so it had to be on her torso somewhere.

_Think, Greg, _Think!

_OK... Blood patterns suggests that she was stabbed in the doorway... smear says she slid down the frame and... crawled over to the fridge... Oh God, I can't do this._

But he had to try.

_OK, so if she crawled in here, she was crawling away from her attacker, right? Which means he must have come up from behind her and..._

Her back! With horror, Greg realized that he had been resting her back on his knees. He immediately twisted her in his embrace, carefully so as not to aggravate the wound further and his fingers searched beneath her shirt until he found the place where her skin had been punctured. Three times.

He tried to remain calm. He tried to think of what he needed to do. But he was a criminalist, not a medic! "Oh God..." he choked. "Bry..."

As if responding to her nickname, her eyelids fluttered. She let out a cry, as if the pain was hitting her all over again, white hot and brand new.

He clutched her tightly. "No, please, you'll be OK," he whispered, the tears streaming unbidden down his cheeks.

"Greg?" she gasped. Her eyes were glassy and far away. In the distance, Greg could hear sirens.

He stroked her hair. "I'm here, Bry, I'm here," he whispered. "You'll be OK. You have to be OK. We need you, _I_ need you."

"You... I've always only ever wanted... just you..." She was smiling, delirious.

"How could this happen?" Greg demanded. "Who did this to you? Why?"

"I think..." She shuddered and closed her eyes at a new wave of pain. "It might be because... I said I'd hurt him..."

"Who, B?" Greg pressed. "Who are you talking about?"

"Gary," she whispered. "Told him I'd... If he ever said... What he _did_ to you..."

"You're not making sense, B," Greg said affectionately, softly, as if she was an adorable little girl who was so excited she couldn't get her thoughts out properly.

"I know why he hurt you," Bryce said at last, her suddenly focused eyes boring into his. "I know it's because of what I called you."

And then, suddenly, Greg understood everything. Why no hate crime charges had been filed. Why no one asked him about his orientation. Why Bryce had seemed so remorseful after it had happened.

All of a sudden, rage began to bubble inside of him, overwhelming the terror. "Did he do this to you?" he demanded through gritted teeth, momentarily forgetting that Gary was in prison.

But she shook her head. "I never wanted… to hurt you," she whispered, hoarsely.

"I know, Bry, I know," Greg assured her, forcing a smile. "Who did this? Tell me, B, come on, girl..."

"Mar..." she coughed, and blood spluttered from her mouth as she cringed in Greg's arms and he squeezed her tighter.

But she hadn't needed to finish the name. "Mario?!"

There was shouting in the apartment, but Greg only had eyes for Bryce.

He watched her nod, her face contorted in pain, and then she opened her eyes. "Is that it?" she breathed. "You're with me now. You're safe. I told you..." She looked up at him with such desperate eyes. "Can I go now?"

The paramedics burst into the scene just as Bryce's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she suddenly felt very cold to Greg's touch.

"Step away from her son, we've got this one," said the medic.

Greg slowly nodded, horrified as he watched them take her from him and lay her out on the floor.

"It's her back!" Greg told them, and his eyes fell on a nearby crimson kitchen knife. "She was stabbed three times."

They looked at him, then turned back towards Bryce and turned her onto her stomach. One of the medics approached Greg and held out her hand to help Greg to his feet. As Greg rose, he held her gaze. "Is she gonna be OK?"

"I don't know, sir," said the medic helplessly. "But maybe you should wait outside. The detective will want a word with you."

Greg nodded absently, his eyes hazy, and looked back at Bryce. He began walking towards the doorway when he stopped, seeing Nick standing there, his face completely white. For a moment, Greg froze. But then, he picked up his pace and, covered in Bryce's blood, he wrapped his arms around Nick's torso, burying his face in the nape of Nick's neck. He felt the Texan return the embrace, but lightly, hesitantly, as if this had never happened before.

"She's dead," Greg said into Nick's skin, so his words were muffled. "She's dead..."

Nick said nothing, but he did slowly begin to rub Greg's back. Greg's tears trickled down Nick's neck and stained the Texan's black T-shirt, but Nick didn't seem to mind. One of Nick's hands climbed up Greg's back and rubbed his neck before gripping the back of Greg's head securely, letting the man have his moment of weakness, letting his lover break down.

Nick's slow, steady breathing was a striking contrast to Greg's, which came in short, staccato bursts as he vented everything that had been churning inside of him. Greg clung to Nick as tightly as he possibly could, his hands clenching into fists, catching Nick's shirt in his grasp, hiding in the sanctuary of where Nick's neck met his shoulder. Meanwhile, Nick stood stoic, saying nothing, just watching the scene unfold, and supporting Greg, who didn't believe he could stand on his own.

"Don't ever leave me," Greg found himself saying. "Please, I could never lose you."

It was at these words that Nick seemed to stir from his stupor. He pushed Greg away from him, but Greg didn't want to let him go, Greg didn't want to leave the safety of Nick's neck. Still, Nick was stronger than him, and the Texan pushed him away so forcefully, Greg had to stumble backwards a step.

He was staring at Greg with piercing brown eyes, his fingers biting into Greg's shoulders as he gave Greg a light shake. "Now you listen to me," he said sternly. "I won't ever leave you. Not if I can help it. And neither will she."

Greg stared at Nick with wide red eyes before he placed his hands on either of Nick's cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed him right there, in front of the medics and police officers that were filing into the apartment to tend to the scene.

Nick seemed surprised, but not at all unwilling as he returned the kiss ferociously, his hands moving down from Greg's shoulders and resting them against his chest. Greg drew solace from the familiarity of Nick's lips pressed against his and tried desperately to lose himself inside of the Texan, which may have worked, except...

"Nick?! _Greg_?!"

They broke apart and turned in unison to the source of the astonished voice where Catherine was staring at them with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. Nick glanced at Greg, then at Catherine. "You're confused..." Nick began.

"Hell yeah I am!" Catherine retorted. "Why the hell didn't either of you tell me about this before? It's like Sara and Gil all over again! Why am I always out of the loop?" But she calmed down and shook her head, releasing a sigh. Her face grew grim. "So... I saw Bryce on my way in."

Nick and Greg exchanged baffled looks. It was Nick who answered her. "Yeah, um, they took her down stairs about five minutes ago."

_They did?_ Greg thought to himself. _I didn't even notice..._

Catherine nodded slowly. "OK," she said slowly. "Well, then..." She looked into the kitchen apprehensively and swallowed. "I guess this is my scene then..."

Greg was a little disturbed by her lack of reaction. The only thing she seemed annoyed about was that they had kept it a secret from her. He compared it to Sara's response when he had told her. _"Oh. And?"_ Did nothing surprise them anymore?

Nick was watching Catherine take photographs of the blood smears on the floor. As she crouched down to bag the kitchen knife, Greg felt something tightly clasp his hand. He looked down and was not surprised to see Nick gripping it, his knuckles turning white. Catherine dropped the knife into the evidence bag and Greg watched her close her eyes and sit back on her haunches.

"Are you up to it?" came a new voice, and Greg's head turn to see Jim Brass standing next to him. He hadn't even heard the detective approach.

Catherine took a moment, then nodded. "I just can't believe it happened again is all," she said in a whisper. She seemed to compose herself as she went back to photographing the scene.

Brass turned his attention to Nick and Greg. "What are you two doing here?" His eyes narrowed. "Sanders, what the hell is on your shirt?"

Greg looked down at his bloody white T-shirt and realized it was evidence. "Oh, right..." he muttered numbly, and squeezed Nick's hand once before pulling away from his grip and taking off his shirt. "Catherine!" he called, and the blonde looked up at him and saw him holding his shirt out to her. She nodded, rose to her feet, and took it from him without a word.

"Nick called it in," Greg explained to Brass. "I told him to."

"Were you here at the time?" Brass asked, taking out his notepad.

"No, I was home," Greg explained. "I called her, and when she answered she told me she needed help. She was in too much pain to tell me what happened, but I knew it had to be bad, so I told Nick to call an ambulance."

"Nick was at your house?" Brass inquired with a cock of his eyebrow.

"Uh..." Greg glanced at the Texan to find Nick watching him. _It's your call,_ he saw etched in Nick's hardened features. Greg swallowed and looked back at Brass. "Yeah."

Brass asked no more questions on the subject. "And why did you call her?"

"I wanted to..." Why _had_ he called her? "I wanted to make sure things were OK between us. We left on awkward terms earlier."

"You had a fight?"

"No, but I don't see what that has to do with anything." He wasn't sure why he snapped at the innocent question.

But Brass didn't seem to notice. "I heard you were already here when the medics arrived."

"Yeah," Greg nodded. "Of course I was, I came here right after I told Nick to call an ambulance. I needed to make sure she was OK."

His words made Catherine stop and look back at him.

"What did you do when you got here?" Brass asked.

Greg's eyes gravitated towards the floor. "I went into the kitchen, saw all the blood, and stepped inside... Avoiding the blood," he added for Catherine. "I know better than that."

"Good," said Catherine. "That means these prints probably belong to our perp."

"Mario," Greg spat spitefully.

Brass looked up. "What?"

"She said it was him," Greg explained. "She said he did it because..." He glanced at Nick again. "Well... Anyways..." He tried to get back on track, putting it off for a little bit longer. "I went into the kitchen, I avoided the blood, but she looked so cold and alone, so I held her. I tried to calm her down. I tried to stop the bleeding, do _something, _but I didn't know what to do so I just tried to make her comfortable, and ask her..."

"She said he had a motive. What was it?" Brass wasn't to be fooled. He could tell Greg had skipped over that part for a reason.

Again, Greg glanced at Nick for support. The Texan took his hand again, clutching it firmly. Brass's eyes glanced at this gesture, but he did not comment on it.

Greg cleared his throat. "She said he did it because she had threatened Gary."

"Because of that time in interrogation?" Brass asked. He then nodded. "She was pissed because he beat you up."

"Yeah, but... There's more to it than that..." His eyes drifted to Catherine, who was watching him intently, her lips straight, her eyes focused, trying to figure Greg out. For some reason, it felt easier to tell her than to tell Brass. And so he kept eye contact with her. "Bryce didn't want him telling anyone one of the key motives he had for beating me up."

As Brass asked, "And what was that?" he saw realization slowly creep into Catherine's features. Her eyes widened only slightly and her lips parted in a silent gasp.

But what Greg had forgotten was that this was news to Nick too, whose grip on his hand tightened, and the Texan pulled on his arm to force Greg to face him.

"You never told me this," Nick said aghast, almost accusingly. And then, horror struck his eyes. "Oh God, the _bottle..._" he breathed. He sounded like he was going to be sick.

Catherine gasped again, this time audibly, and her hand flew to her mouth. She leapt to her feet and swiftly crossed to Greg. "How did he know?" she demanded desperately. "How did _he_ know when _we_ didn't even know?!"

"Would someone like to fill in the detective here?!" Brass exclaimed.

Greg licked his lips. "I'm getting to it," he said, still watching Catherine. "Earlier that night, Bryce and I had an explosive fight, and in the middle of it we were interrupted by Gary Roberts who tried to steal Bryce's money. But Bryce was... understandably... upset with me, so she said some things that I think she regrets now. I... I _know_ she regrets it now. But it... it sort of revealed..." Greg closed his eyes. This was harder than he thought it would be. Brass's eyes were now focused on Nick and Greg's joined hands. "Bryce was angry with me because she caught Nick and I..."

Brass's eyes narrowed as Greg trailed off, searching for the words. And then, a smile slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I would have never guessed," he said, then looked at Catherine. "You knew about this?"

All of a sudden, the mood changed as Catherine chirped, "Only since about five minutes ago when I caught them in the act myself."

"No way!" Brass laughed, then looked at them, full-out grinning now. "That's..." He laughed and shook his head. "I didn't even know that _either_ of you were... But, uh... Well..." He coughed, sounding suddenly a little uncomfortable before saying in a deep voice, "Congratulations, I guess..."

"Now that you know about that, can we get back to the story?!" Greg demanded.

The smiles on Brass and Catherine's faces vanished into identical somber expressions. "You're right. Go on," said the detective.

"So she knew... probably from the nature of it, probably from listening to him talking to you about it, I don't know how, but she figured out why he did some of the things he did. And she knew that I didn't... I didn't want anyone to know, and if it came out..."

"So she told him to shut up, or she'd castrate him," Brass concluded.

"I guess..." Greg wasn't sure _what_ she had threatened.

Brass nodded and made note of it in his book. He looked up at Greg, hesitation and awkwardness present in his eyes. "Listen… I can be as discreet as you want about this, you know," he said, addressing both Nick and Greg. "I can press charges against Gary for the hate crime."

"Don't bother," Greg muttered, his eyes gravitating to the floor.

"Yes, bother!" Nick declared furiously, speaking for the first time since uttering his shock at the truth of Greg's attack. He tore his hand out of Greg's grip, who looked at him, almost afraid. Nick seemed to calm down when he saw Greg's eyes, but he was still furious as he gasped for air, as if he had nearly drowned and needed it desperately. "That's unacceptable. That's… it's _low_, even for a scumbag like Gary, and I…" He faltered as he stared at the growing fear in Greg's eyes. He closed his mouth and covered it with his hand as he shook his head. "No, Greg, I can't stand for that."

Greg forced a smile, though he was feeling anything but cheerful. He needed to reassure Nick. "It's OK," he breathed. "It won't even make a difference. All is is anyway is just extra paperwork."

Nick quivered on the spot, and, if possible, paled even more. "It makes a difference to me, Greg," he whispered.

"Greg's right, Nick," Brass put in solemnly.

Nick didn't seem to know what to do, so Greg rubbed his arm, trying to calm him down. His arm slid beneath Nick's and rested on the Texan's hip. The younger man looked to the detective. "But... you know, Brass, I can give you a full report on exactly what they said. If it'll help in the case."

Brass nodded. "It should help the sentencing, I'd guess." He looked from Greg to Nick and smiled again. "Seriously, though. Have you two learned nothing from Grissom and Sara? You shouldn't keep these things from us."

Greg didn't understand why everyone was so happy. "Don't you get it?" he asked them quietly.

"Believe me, Greg, I think we do," Catherine put in.

"No, you don't!" Greg exclaimed. "Because you wouldn't be smiling if you _did_. Don't you get why Bryce was stabbed? Because she tried to keep _my_ secret. Because she involved herself in something to protect _me_!" He suddenly took his arm away from Nick, who seemed stunned. Greg cupped both his hands over his mouth and nose and took a deep breath, unable to continue faking his smile for the Texan. His eyes moved to Nick. "I just wish everyone would stop trying so hard to protect me," he said pointedly. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to be there, in her apartment, surrounded by her blood and the scent of dead roses. "I can take care of myself..." he muttered before pushing past Brass and heading down the hall. He searched for the door, but her house felt like a maze. The labyrinthine hallway was never ending, and he just kept walking and walking until finally he found the front door and pushed it open, but he was still inside. It was strange. Arriving at her place and following the source of her cry had been so easy, so quick, but now, he couldn't seem to escape the constricting walls of the apartment building. He needed air, he needed to breathe again, he needed to unclog his lungs, to rid himself of the taste of stale cigarettes and withered rose petals. He stormed down the staircase and exited the building as fast as he could, his whole body convulsing and he went over to the bushes and threw up.

And then, it was all gone. The cigarettes, the roses, the blood, her name... All of it had been in his stomach and now that he had expelled those things from him, he felt empty, and he wanted them back. He wanted _her_ back. He was doubled over, catching his breath as he rested his hands on his knees, the stench of orange juice and old pizza permeating his nose and singing his brain. He wanted the roses back.

"Greg?"

It was Nick's voice. He could recognize it anywhere. But Greg didn't move as he gasped for air. He felt Nick's strong, comforting hand resting on his back and drew comfort from his proximity. But Greg couldn't look at him. "Her blood's on my hands, Nick."

"That's your own fault, isn't it?"

This did cause Greg to turn his head and give Nick a completely aghast look. "What?!"

"You're the one who wanted to comfort her," Nick explained. "You held her in your arms. I'm assuming that's what you meant when you said that her blood is on your hands. Because if you meant it metaphorically, then you're just being melodramatic."

Greg slowly rose, his hands sliding up his jeans and he turned them over to see dry blood crusted in the lines of his palms. He closed his eyes and his fists as he laughed, bitterly. "This all turned out wrong somehow," he whispered. "I never thought that being with you would have so many consequences..."

Nick took a step backwards, warily. "You want to back out again."

Greg looked up at him and wavered. "Nick, that's not..."

"Because if you back out this time Greg, then it's done," Nick said, shaking his head. "I'm tired of being your yo-yo. You push me far away, and then you just pull me back in again depending on your whims. You push me away this time, Greg, and I won't come running back when you change your mind."

Greg thought about his words for a long time as he stared at Nick, his eyes clouded, but thoughtful as he tried to get lost inside of Nick again, if only to see if he still could.

Nick mistook his silence for guilt. "OK," he said. "Then that's it..." He began to walk away.

"No, wait," Greg called, taking a step forward.

Nick paused, his back to Greg as he hung his head. "I don't get you, Greg. I thought I did, but I don't. Maybe I never really did."

"I don't want you to go..." Greg whispered. "I meant what I said. I don't want to lose you."

Nick turned around and looked up at Greg. "If you really wanted this, Greg, you wouldn't have hesitated."

"I didn't hesitate," Greg explained. "I was trying to find the words."

"What words?" Nick asked. "It was a simple question. Yes or no would have sufficed. But your silence spoke for you."

"I wasn't thinking about that," Greg told him.

"Then what were you thinking about, Greg?" Nick demanded, suddenly striding towards him furiously. "Were you thinking about Bryce? Were you wondering if you'd rather be with her?"

"No," Greg said, his eyes still churning, muddy waves. "I was thinking about you. About something I've been thinking about for a really long time, actually."

"And what's that?" Nick demanded coldly.

Greg looked up at him, and his eyes focused. "I don't know. I can't seem to say it."

"Say _what_?!" Nick growled, losing his patience.

"It sounds so..." He laughed. "It sounds so strange... So cheesy..." He seemed to decide something. "No. Now isn't the time. I'm not ready."

"Good God, Greg, what the _fuck_ are you talking about?!" Nick sighed, exasperated. "Now isn't the time for _what_?"

"To say I love you."

Nick was stunned into silence as he gawked at Greg.

"It isn't the time," Greg explained calmly. "Because it doesn't feel right. I mean, it _feels_ right, I feel it, but it doesn't _sound_... And I don't think it'll make you stay. You look really mad. Did I say something wrong?"

But Nick took the sides of Greg's head in his hands and his lips collided with Greg's. Shortly thereafter, Greg pushed him frantically away.

"I taste like vomit," he said, shaking his head at Nick.

The Texan laughed. "And you think I care about that?"

"I don't understand what you're so happy about," Greg said. "I basically just said that I don't love you. I admitted ambivalence."

Nick just kept laughing. "Greg, it's OK to be ambivalent. You're _always_ ambivalent. It's one of the things that makes you so unpredictable, and I love that about you. The fact that you have been thinking about this for so long means so much more than those stupid words."

Greg was relieved to see Nick smiling. But he wasn't completely at ease. "Would you... come with me to the hospital? Please?"

Nick's laughter swiftly died and he seemed to remember the events of the evening. "Oh... Right, yeah, of course I will, G..."

Greg forced a smile. "Thanks," he muttered. "I'll need you there."

He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Nick's steady hands close over his biceps. The Texan nodded. "She'll be OK, Greg."

Greg scoffed. "You didn't hear her," he whispered. "I could feel her in my arms just... fading away..."

Nick apparently had nothing to say to this, but Greg felt his lover slowly guiding him to the car. "It'll probably be better if I drive," Nick told him.

But Greg barely registered that he had said anything at all.


	14. Ambivalence

**_Author's Note:_** Another long chapter to whet your appetite. Keep up the reviews, I appreciate it. It's like getting paid to write. If you don't review, you're stealing! ;o)

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

_May 19th, 2008_

"Greg Sanders?" the man asked as Greg drew nealrer to the card with his name on it.

"That's me," he answered.

The man nodded and dropped the sign, extending his hand to shake Greg's. "You can call me Barry, we've spoken on the phone. I'm Hillary Wells' assistant. She's anxious to meet you face to face. You have a two o'clock with her and a few other writers who Lancaster is also publishing." He handed Greg three manuscripts. "We'll be needing you to read these. Preferably before your meeting."

Greg took the manuscripts and looked at his watch. It was eight in the morning. "You want me to read all of these by two?"

Barry nodded. "They're forensics crime novels," he explained. "Oh, wait, no— one of them is a historical exposé. Kind of like your book. Hillary thinks that you should start reviewing a few of them. We aren't near to publishing them yet, not like how close we are with you. One of them's only on its second or third draft. But you'll be meeting the writers this afternoon, so it might be good to know their work. They'll be expected to have read yours as well."

Greg looked at one of the authors whose novel he was supposed to read. "Kathy Reichs? You're kidding!"

"Nope, you'll be meeting with Dr. Reichs this afternoon," said Barry.

"Kathy Reichs has read my book?" He couldn't believe it. "Didn't they make a TV show out of her stuff?"

"That's right," Barry said, nodding. "I think Hillary's goal is to get you thinking about writing a crime novel of your own. Maybe starring some famous historical Vegas crime guys. She _loved_ your chapter on Mickey Dunn. Is all that about that Carrie Wilson girl the truth?"

"Well, her name was changed, but yeah, it's true," Greg said nodding.

Barry was beaming. "Fantastic, fantastic..." He looked down. "Well, you seem to have luggage, are you ready to go? I can take you back to the hotel and leave you alone for a while to get acquainted with those manuscripts."

"Sure." Greg followed Barry outside of the airport as the stout man moved to a sleek black town car and popped the trunk, taking Greg's bags from him.

"Oh, one more thing. Keep your phone charged at all times. Hillary can't stand it when she can't get through to her writers on the phone."

"Oh, right..." Greg muttered, and fumbled in his pocket for the phone as Barry held the door open to the back seat for him. Greg climbed into the car and relaxed against the cool leather seats. It had been a long time since he'd been in LA. He wondered if that sandwich shop on Sunset was still open.

As Barry pulled away from the curb, Greg looked at his cell phone and turned it on again, now that he was safely on the ground. It took it a moment to boot up, and Greg glanced at the manuscripts in his lap. _Three books in six hours... Being a published author is more work than I thought._

He was about to slip his phone back into his pocket and get started on the reading when he noticed he had a voicemail. Curious, he held the phone to his ear and listened.

"Greg, it's Grissom..." Greg frowned at the tone of his supervisor's voice. "I know you're, uh... you're probably on the plane by now, so call me when you land and um..." He sighed. Greg straightened in his seat. The dejected tone, the pauses, the strange hints of anxiety that rested beneath his words... All of this was uncharacteristically Grissom. And then, his supervisor seemed to find his cold, detached self again as he stated, quietly, "Warrick's dead." Greg must have misheard. Lucky for him, Grissom repeated himself. "He's dead. He was shot twice in his car in an alley by the diner a few hours ago. He died in under five minutes, probably, so it was quick. The under sheriff is looking into it now, he's got days working it because... well, for obvious reasons, I guess you can figure that out. The funeral is next week. I know that you're taking time off for your book publishing and everything, but if you can make it back by then, I think we would all really appreciate it. I guess I'll hear from you when you land..." Grissom didn't seem to know how to end his call, so his farewell sounded awkward and uncertain. "Um... goodbye."

The dull click reverberated in Greg's skull, but he didn't lower the phone from his ear. His immediate thought was of Nick, and the hell he knew his friend must be going through. So naturally, the Texan's number was the very next thing he dialed.

It rang a few times before he heard someone pick up, and then the line went dead. Confused, Greg called the number again, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn't leave one as he closed his phone, his mind drifting away from LA and back to Vegas.

"Barry," he said suddenly.

"Mm?" his driver intoned.

"Could you drive me back to the airport please?"

He saw Barry's forehead furrow in the rearview mirror. "Did you forget something?"

"No, I need to catch another flight," Greg said. "There's a direct flight back to Vegas at eleven and I need to be on it."

"But... you just got here! What about the two o'clock? What about Kathy Reichs?" He sounded nervous.

"Listen, this is an emergency," Greg explained. "Tell Hillary that I'll have to reschedule."

"She won't like that," said Barry skeptically. "She doesn't like to be stood up."

"Then tell her if she doesn't like it, I can get a new agent," Greg retorted. He calmed down. "Please? I just found out my friend was murdered."

"Oh..." Barry looked conflicted. "Well... Yeah, that is an emergency... But what do I tell Hillary?"

"Is that not a good enough excuse?" Greg was baffled.

"Hillary doesn't accept emergencies," Barry explained. "She's very... you know, 'the show must go on!' That type."

"Then the show will have to go on without me," said Greg. "I'll read the manuscripts. I'll e-mail her my thoughts on them. And... And tell her that I'll write her a crime novel. Centering around Carrie Wilson as the protagonist."

"How do I pitch it?"

He was making this up on the spot. "Uh... A beautiful but feisty young girl who was raised in the heart of Las Vegas by her mother and adopted daughter of Steve Brown, casino and hotel mogul—" Yup, Catherine was going to kill him. But he could work out the logistics later. "But she grows up to be this brilliant forensics specialist and... And cracks the case of the mystery of Mickey Dunn. There's a twist, too, but tell her that if I told her it would defeat the purpose."

"The promise of a crime novel might tide her over for a while," Barry said. "When will you get it to her?"

"I don't know, tell her to call me," Greg said dismissively. "But I need to get home. Please Barry?"

Barry made a U-turn in answer and Greg relaxed in his seat.

But he never stopped thinking about Nick.

* * *

_May 19th, 2:00PM_

He stood outside Nick's apartment and waited for a minute after knocking. There was no response, so Greg knocked again.

"I know you're there," Greg called. "I saw your car in the parking lot." He paused. "I'm not going away."

He waited a few more minutes before he even heard noise behind the door. He heard a chain being moved and the door open to reveal the ghost of Nick Stokes staring at him with bloodshot eyes, holding a bottle of beer. He was wearing a white wife beater and black slacks with the belt buckle undone. It didn't look like he had shaved that day, a small growth of stubble visible on his chin and cheeks. His hair was disheveled and there were strange scars on his knuckles.

Greg didn't know what he had expected, but he was chilled by this image of his friend. "Can I come in?" he asked when Nick said nothing to him.

Nick gave him a half shrug before turning around and walking back into the apartment and leaving the door open. Greg stepped inside and watched as Nick fell onto his couch and picked up the remote, turning on the TV. It was a game show, and the over-stimulated host's voice boomed in the small apartment as bells and whistles whirled. The intensity of the volume made Greg wonder what it was exactly that Nick was trying to drown out.

"You want to talk about it?" Greg called over the noise of the TV.

Nick pretended not to hear him. Greg shifted uncomfortably on the spot. He had never seen Nick like this in his life. He could tell that something was withered and rotting inside of Nick—dead the second Warrick's life had ended—and its stench was haunting them both.

There was banging on the wall. Someone was yelling. But Nick seized his beer bottle and hurled it at the wall in response, where it shattered and crashed to the floor. Droplets of beer stained his wall and dribbled down it, staining the hardwood. Nick turned back to his game show.

Greg went over behind the television and pulled the plug out of the wall, and a strange hush fell over the room. Nick didn't even move. It was as though he hadn't even noticed the change. Greg walked over to him and sat down next to Nick on the couch as the Texan continued to stare at the dark gray screen of the television set.

"What are we watching?" Greg asked.

"An unplugged television set," Nick replied coolly.

Regardless, Greg was glad to hear his scratchy voice. They were the first words Nick had spoken to him all night, and he didn't care if they were hostile or not.

"For a while there I thought you lost your powers of speech." Greg gave an awkward chuckle, attempting to deal with the tension in the air.

Nick would not relent. He stared resolutely at the TV, before finally jumping to his feet, mumbling something about needing another beer. There was a strange smell in the apartment that Greg recognized immediately, but he couldn't find the source of it until he dug in between the cushions of the couch and pulled out a small plastic bag that was filled with a dried green herb.

Nick returned to the living room, holding his beer, to see Greg examining the bag. He said nothing to the younger CSI, who looked up at Nick questioningly. Nick took a swig of his beer and went to plug the TV back in.

"Are you _high_?!" Greg finally burst out.

"I was," Nick mumbled, fiddling with the cords. "About maybe two hours ago. Now, though, now I think I'm pretty low..." He couldn't seem to plug in the adapter quite right. He kept stabbing at the socket and missing.

"Nick, give it up, you won't be able to get it in the state your in—"

"No, I _won't_ give it up, Greg!" Nick boomed, slamming the cord down on the floor as he turned to his friend. His words were slightly slurred, but they were loud, and they succeeded in making Greg suddenly very unnerved. "I _won't_ give it up, I can't, I won't let that bastard fucking try to tell me I can't profeshin... profunction... pro... _fuck_!" Nick spat, taking an angry swig of his beer. "Trying to tell me I'm no good at being impartial? What the fuck does he know anyways, he's not an... He hasn't lost a... He never... ya know?"

Wide-eyed, Greg could honestly shake his head no.

Nick continued, making dramatic gestures. "And then you come here, you're _just_ like him, you didn't _see_, you don't _know_, and I can fucking do whatever the hell I want, and I can be damn profunctional and impartial about it too! I can plug this cord in the wall, and it will _work_ and my TV will be _working_ again and everything will be better, because it'll be back, the noise, the lights, the tiny, tiny little people that live inside of that box, they will all be back, as if nothing had never ever happened, as if no stupid fucking asshole bastard came and unplugged it in the first place." He stooped down and picked up the cord, looking at it, a peculiarly confused expression on his face. "I can plug this back in, and everything will be better." He looked up, horrified, as if he had just realized something, and when he spoke again, his voice was constricted with tears. "I can't plug him in again, can I? I can't just plug him back in. He's broke. He'll always be broke... and I can't fix him, Greg, I can't..." He ended the sentence in a sob, dropping the cord to the floor again as he fell to his knees, his fingers clasping the neck of his beer bottle so tight, they were losing circulation.

Greg had seen this coming since Nick had indirectly called him a 'stupid fucking asshole bastard.' And so he was immediately kneeling in front of Nick, who had buried his face in one hand, and wrapped the hand holding his beer across his stomach as he wailed, his emotions spilling out onto the floor.

Greg said nothing—there was nothing to say. He slipped his arms around Nick's back and the Texan fell into his shoulder, his arms moving around Greg and holding on for dear life. And Greg didn't do anything but kneel there in front of Nick for a long time, waiting for the Texan to run out of water, to run out of pain. Greg closed his eyes as he felt Nick fall apart in his grasp.

Eventually, the burly Texan began to be pacified until he began taking deep breaths, but he did not pull away from Greg.

"Is this the time to ask you what profunctional means?" Greg asked, breaking the long silence between them.

And then, he felt Nick's chest rise and fall in bursts. He was worried he had made the man start crying again, but then Nick sighed. "I don't know..." He pulled away from Greg and Greg saw he was smiling. "What about your book? I thought you were in LA?"

"I was," Greg admitted. "For about three hours. But I got Grissom's message, and I knew you'd be..." He couldn't find the word. "I just had a feeling that I was more needed here than there."

Nick closed his tired eyes. "I can't believe he's really gone, G..." he whispered. "I've been trying to... I don't know, but with the beer, and the weed, I wanted to... I just wanted to..."

"Feel numb?" Greg provided.

Nick sighed and covered his mouth with his hands. He stared at Greg for a long time, his brown eyes searching, although at the time Greg couldn't figure out what the Texan was looking for inside of him. "You should go," he said, suddenly rising to his feet.

Greg didn't understand. "Why?" He turned around as Nick walked past him and picked up the plastic bag on the couch. He held it out at arm's length to examine it, then his eyes scanned the surfaces of the room.

"Your book," said Nick. "You gotta go get it published."

"My agent can handle that without me," Greg half-lied. He knew he was going to get an earful from Hillary later, but he would deal with that when it came.

Nick seemed to find what he was looking for as he strode over to the table and pushed some magazines onto the floor to reveal small sheets of paper. He picked one up and opened the bag.

"I don't think you should be doing that after all that beer..." Greg began slowly.

He expected Nick to snap at him, or tell him to shut up, but the Texan just stopped and stared at the sheet of paper. "Please just go, Greg," he breathed. "Just go anywhere but here."

"I'm..." His heart rate increased and he could feel it. "I'm worried that if I leave, you'll do something stupid."

"I'm not suicidal, Greg."

"Not that stupid," Greg explained. "But something pretty damn stupid. Like smoke up and drink until you land your ass in a hospital."

Nick slowly placed his hands face down on the coffee table. In the silence, Greg could hear his breaths shaking. "If I promise to throw out the weed, will you go away?"

Greg pursed his lips. "And the beer?"

Nick looked up. "You gotta give me something here, man..."

"I can stay here all night if I have to," said Greg.

To his surprise, Nick actually laughed. "Funny you should say that..."

Greg frowned. "Nick..."

"I found him, you know," said Nick, nodding as he stared at the corner of the room. "'Rick. In his car. I found 'im. I didn't understand what I was looking at. And you know, all I kept thinking about was three years ago, when he..." He closed his mouth and swallowed. "... when he brushed the dirt away from that glass coffin and I saw his face, heard his muffled voice, and I suddenly realized... You all saved my life that night. As I understand it, all of you worked your ass off to find me. And I'll never be able to express how much I..." He sniffed. "... how grateful I am that I have such smart and... and... and that they're my friends. But he's the one that really _saved_ me. He's the one that pulled my finger away from the trigger, and he's the one that reminded me that there was a world outside of that glass box. And I just wish that I could have... that I could have just at least, if I could have... I mean, maybe, if I had gotten there sooner, or if I could..."

"You couldn't save him," Greg whispered. "Grissom said it took him five minutes. Even if you had gotten there right as it happened, no ambulance could have gotten there in time. He died quickly."

"You ever been shot in the neck, Greg?" Nick asked, as if Nick had himself experienced it. "Five minutes, huh? Quick. How slowly do you think five minutes pass as you're dying? And he was alone. There was no one there with him, to comfort him. He died alone. Even if I couldn't have saved him, I could have at least told him not to be scared... I could at least have told him..." Nick yawned and rubbed his eyes. "I'm so tired..."

"Have you been up since you saw him?" Greg asked, watching Nick waver.

Nick groaned and crawled up onto his couch. "I think I'm just going to lie down..."

Greg watched him as he rolled over, his back facing Greg as he buried his face in the pillows of his couch. He wondered momentarily of Nick was just doing this as a ploy to get Greg to leave him alone. And then, he heard the snoring.

With a sigh, Greg went over to the coffee table and picked up the bag of weed. He put it in his back pocket and began picking up the empty beer bottles and placing them in a row across Nick's coffee table, so when the Texan woke up he'd know exactly how much he had consumed. He looked up at Nick, sleeping restlessly and awkwardly on his couch and something tugged at his heart, though he wasn't sure what it was. He wanted to reach out, place his hand on Nick's head, whisper that everything would be OK. But he didn't, because something inside him told him that though Nick was very emotional, he probably didn't appreciate that sort of thing. After he had broken down in Greg's arms, he had seemed somewhat self-conscious.

Greg went to the front door and turned back to Nick one last time. After that day, Greg wouldn't see him in such a state of grief for a very long time. The next time Greg had seen him, he had been inscrutable, and he never mentioned the day Greg had come over. Greg partially wondered if he remembered any of it at all.

But Nick did remember it.

He remembered it very well.

* * *

_Five months later..._

Once more, Greg stood outside Nick's door, but under much more pleasant circumstances as the two men shared a soft, sensual, secret kiss on his doorstep.

Greg broke away first and looked at his watch. "I should be going..." he began. "I said I'd go in early for swing, and pull a double. One of their guys is out with bronchitis."

"You... could stay..." Nick suggested, nervously.

Though Greg knew exactly what the Texan was implying, he innocently asked, "And do what, exactly? Play Monopoly?"

Nick suddenly pulled Greg forcefully closer to him, and Greg laughed. "Yeah, sure... Or, you know, make it a little interesting, why don't you? Instead of fake cash, let's use clothes for currency."

"Ah, Strip Monopoly," said Greg as he placed his hands on Nick's shoulders and lightly massaged them with his thumbs. "You would lose."

"I'm OK with losing," Nick purred playfully.

But Greg shook his head. "I can't stay. Seriously. I hate waking up early."

"So just stay up," Nick whispered.

Greg was suddenly very uncomfortable. "Nick, you know that I've never exactly done anything like this before..."

Nick's grip on Greg loosened. "OK, if you don't want to stay, I can't make you."

The corners of Greg's lips twitched as he saw the disappointment in Nick's expression. "Well..." he began slowly, sliding his hands down Nick's chest and around his waist before he found the back pockets of Nick's jeans.

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "You're sending mixed messages here, Sanders."

"I'm ambivalent," Greg admitted.

"It's OK to be ambivalent," Nick murmured in low tones.

"Convince me," Greg dared.

"Convince you..." Nick echoed, thinking. "Well... The first step would be getting you in the apartment."

"And how are you going to do that, exactly?" Greg challenged.

"Would you believe me if I told you I just got a fresh roast of Blue Hawaiian?" Nick suggested.

"You're lying," Greg accused with narrowed eyes.

"Unless you go inside, you'll never know," Nick returned.

Greg thought about it, then broke away from Nick and opened the door behind him, walking backwards into Nick's apartment with his hands up, as if held at gun point—as if he had no other choice. "OK, hot shot," said Greg. "You got me in your apartment. So what's your next step?"

Nick followed him inside and closed the door behind him. "The next step would be getting you to the bedroom."

"And what's your game plan?" Greg encouraged.

"Tell you that I... have a surprise for you?" Nick tried.

Greg scoffed. "Too obvious. Try again."

Nick frowned. "You're not making this easy."

"It's not supposed to be easy," Greg returned. "Try. Again."

"You know, Greg, you didn't take all of my weed the last time you were here." Greg's jaw dropped.

"You..."

"I keep a stash of it under my mattress," Nick said. "If you want..."

But Greg was already heading down the hall. "Hell no, you are _not_ doing any drugs..." He stopped halfway down the hall and then slowly turned, with a sly expression on his face. "Oh. You're good..." he said, striding back towards Nick and shaking a finger at him. Nick caught his wrist and his lips lightly brushed Greg's finger.

The breath from the next words he spoke blew across the skin of Greg's hand. "Do you remember the last time you were here?" he breathed. "And you said that you could stay here all night?"

Greg shook his head. "I could have sworn you were too plastered to remember that."

"If it has anything to do with you, then I remember everything," Nick told him. He circled Greg, still holding his wrist and began leading him slowly down the hall. "Now no cheating. I believe I had you in my bedroom looking for drugs." They came to a closed door and Nick opened it and gestured for Greg to go inside. Begrudgingly, the younger CSI agreed. He moved over to the bed and bent over, his hands moving beneath the mattress.

"I don't feel any plastic bags," he called to Nick. "What's step three?"

"Getting you into bed," said Nick as the door clicked closed behind him.

Greg smirked, his hand still under the mattress. "And how do you plan to do that?"

Nick came up behind him and grabbed him by the hips. "Oh this, I don't even have to think about," he said.

Greg straightened and turned so he and Nick were face to face and their lips met again in that old, familiar dance they knew so well by now. And soon enough, their clothes were forgotten on the floor, and Greg felt like a virgin again, and for all intents and purposes he was. Falling back onto the bed with Nick following suit, Greg knew that whatever game they had been playing, Nick had definitely won.

Later, he would be yawning every five minutes during swing shift, and drinking a cup of coffee every hour.

But he would never regret that night.

* * *

_In Limbo..._

All of them were there. Grissom, Brass, Catherine, and Nick all stood there, and no one was speaking. That's probably what Greg found to be the strangest thing about the whole scene. The doctors weren't telling them anything. No one was talking. No one was saying anything to anyone else.

Greg wondered if he'd ever hear Bryce speak again.

The thought only made him slip further into his own silence. If she died, if they lost her, Greg wasn't sure what they would do. He was petrified, glued to the spot, unwilling to even consider it. He remembered when he had been told about Warrick. He remembered catching the first flight back to Las Vegas and showing up at Nick's apartment. He remembered the first night they slept together.

The bitter and the sweet, and all that fell in the middle.

Though his tongue was glued to the roof of his very dry mouth, he wanted to speak. He couldn't stand the heavy silence that slowly suffocated him. But, as usual, he was ambivalent.

So he said nothing, restless as he was, his hands clasped between his knees, wondering if he would ever settle, if he would ever learn to be still. He was flaky, he was conflicted, he was agitated, he was unreliable... He had everything, but he didn't know what he wanted. He loved Nick. In a way he had never loved anyone or anything before in his life. He loved Bryce. In a way that made his heart lurch when he thought of her last request. _Can I go now?_ He loved Sara. In a way that made him feel so peaceful whenever he just heard her voice.

Sara...

Suddenly, he rose to his feet, garnering the attention of everyone in the stuffy little white room. But he provided no explanation as he made for the door and stood out in the open hallways that smelled like ammonia, with doctors being paged every five seconds.

But even Sara's voice could not untie the knot in his throat. "Sara Sidle. Leave a message."

But Greg didn't leave a message, hanging up before he even heard the beep. For the first time, he realized that he couldn't rely on Sara to be there to save him whenever he needed it. He looked around at the doctors and nurses passing in the hall at varying speeds. He saw someone who looked like a surgeon make a dash for the stairs. They were all focused. They were all doing their jobs to save lives, heal the sick, do no harm...

He saw the door to the waiting room open and watched Nick slip outside, looking paler than Greg had ever seen him. Their eyes met, but neither of them moved. Finally, Greg found it too difficult to be in the Texan's presence and yet be so far away from him, so he moved towards him and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Nick's shoulder.

Nick broke away from him. "All I can think about..." he said slowly, "is how I told her that we would never be friends."

Greg nodded. "You told me that you meant it." Although, he knew that Nick never really did.

"I think she always felt I meant it," Nick whispered. "Even after we became friends, I just... I can't get what I said to her out of my head. I never apologized to her for it. And even when things were good between us, I think she always wondered if I was just pretending to make working with her easier but... I wasn't pretending, Greg. She really is an amazing person. And what if I never get the chance..."

"Don't finish that sentence," said Greg sharply, even though the Texan didn't sound like he intended to. Greg shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked around at the halls, the bustling atmosphere, the patients being wheeled in on gurneys, and suddenly he had an epiphany.

"I can't stay here."

"What are you talking about?" Nick asked.

"I can't stay here in this white-washed limbo, waiting to hear something I already know."

"You've already know?" Nick was confused.

"Yeah... I think I do..." Greg whispered. "I think I knew it when she asked me..."

"What did she ask you?"

"Nothing," Greg said, shaking his head and his whole body to rid himself of this newfound, eerie clarity. "I just have to go."

"Where?" Nick demanded, following Greg as he took off down the hall.

"To find the bastard that did this," Greg growled. "It's time I be a little protective myself."


	15. Rage

**_Author's Note:_** Love you guys. I'm glad this is well-received. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Two chapters and an epilogue after this one.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Greg, wait—" The Texan seized Greg's arm as the younger man turned to leave.

"Don't try and stop me, Nick," Greg growled, like a caged tiger. "It won't work."

"I'm stronger than you," Nick warned.

"But I'm smarter," Greg countered. "And I will find a way to leave this hospital and find him no matter what you do. You cannot control me, Nick, anymore than you can protect me."

Nick sniffed, trying to remain angry, but Greg could tell that he was getting to him. "This isn't about Bryce, is it?" he breathed. "It's about what they did to you."

Greg pursed his lips but remained stoic. "No one controls me, Nick. Not you, not them. Nothing holds any power over me but my own will."

"So this isn't holding power over you?" Nick pressed. "Getting you so angry that it forces you to go out and get yourself hurt again?"

"Who says I'll get hurt again?" Greg returned defensively, jerking his arm out of Nick's grip. "Nick… Face it. You have never seen me really angry. And I don't mean annoyed, or frustrated, or mad about something stupid, I mean indignant, righteous, rage. And you don't know what I can do when I get that way."

"Let's talk about this," Nick begged. "Please, just… I want you to talk to me. I feel like you're closing yourself off again. I know that what happened is bothering you, and I know now that's probably what made you push me away in the first place. But you have nothing to be ashamed of, Greg."

Greg faltered as Nick's gentle, reassuring words filtered into his ear, but it only made him want to get out of that hospital even more. "This isn't about me," he said at last, although he wasn't sure if it was true. "Look, Bryce's killer is still out there, and if I—"

"Killer?" Nick interrupted harshly. "You mean attacker? She doesn't have a killer until she's dead, Greg."

"You mean like Warrick is dead," Greg replied flatly.

A chill swept across Nick's eyes as he stepped backwards. He watched Greg for a moment, unsure of what to say, the name of his old best friend stunning him into silence.

"I'm sorry for bringing him up, Nick, but I know that it still eats at you that Warrick's killer is still out there. And I know that if you knew his name, and if you knew where to find him, there is nothing inside this world or out of it that would keep you from pursuing him and taking him down. Not even I could stand in your way. And we _know_ who stabbed Bryce, and I can _find_ him, I _know_ I can. So will you just step aside and let me go?" His words were cold, detatched, and calculated, and Greg reminded himself of a serial killer. He knew that should have scared him, but it didn't.

Apparently, though, it had some effect on Nick, who answered him, his voice barely a trembling whisper, "Go, Greg."

Nodding, he made a promise and a request. "I won't do anything stupid, and I won't take on more than I can handle. In return, you have to promise me you won't tell Brass or Grissom. I will call them when I need them."

Nick was whiter than the hospital walls as he swallowed, but he said nothing, neither agreeing or disagreeing to Greg's request. Greg knew somehow that Nick couldn't make that promise, and so he just accepted his silence, turned on his heal, and left.

* * *

He stared at the man in the orange jumpsuit behind the glass as he waited for him to pick up the phone. He had such a small, mousey frame that Greg wished there was no glass between them so Greg could snap him like a twig.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Gary said with a sneer.

"I want to know where your buddy is," Greg demanded, bluntly.

"Why?"

"I think you know why."

Gary laughed. "How is she?"

"Better than you think," Greg lied. "She survived. And she's cursing up a storm about you, you should really hear her. You guys really don't know how to murder _anyone_, do you?"

Gary's smile faded. "I don't know where he is. How would I?"

"What's his name? I mean his _full_ name. His real name."

"Why should I tell you?" Gary spat.

Greg hesitated. "Because if you do, I won't testify at your sentencing. I won't tell the jury everything you said to me, everything you talked about doing to me. I'll just let the evidence speak for me. Believe me, it'll effect how long you stay in here. And I'm sure you're learning a little bit about loving men yourself in there."

Gary wasn't to be fooled as he narrowed his eyes at Greg. "She's dead, isn't she?" he asked. "I can see it in your face. Why would you be here if she was fine? Why would you be so angry?"

Greg pounded the table with his fist before hissing into the phone. "Because you thought you could hurt my friend. And for what? Just to show how manly you are? You're beaten by a woman, _threatened_ by a woman, and you ask your muscular _friend_ to beat her up for you? What does that say about you, Roberts? Are you trying to compensate for something?"

"I'm not giving you his name," Gary said, folding his arms resolutely. "I have no reason to. Go ahead and testify at my trial for all I care. I won't betray him."

These last words caught Greg's interest, and he decided to play on his fears. "Oh. Yeah. I have a guy like that too, you know. I wouldn't ever betray him, not even if it meant the difference between prison and the death penalty. Which, for you, it does," Greg bluffed. First degree assault rarely, if _ever_ resulted in the death penalty. But he hoped Gary didn't know that. "But I get it. You don't want to betray him. I'm sorry, I guess within the coarse of being beaten senseless I neglected to notice exactly _how_ close the two of you really were—"

"Stop it, you fag!" Gary screamed into the phone, and Greg knew he had definitely touched a nerve. "I'm not sick and depraved like you—" Greg gave a wry smile at the irony of the statement. "—I fuck _bitches_, OK? Like your _girlfriend_! You know, the _dead one_!"

Greg clenched his teeth, but he knew he was winning. "I don't know..." he began. "I mean, you seemed pretty interested in fucking me in that alley."

"Fuck you—" He pursed his lips and brought his voice down, knowing everyone was staring at him now as he quivered and jabbed a finger at Greg from behind the glass. "Fuck you," he repeated, in quieter, but still furious tones.

Greg's smile widened. "I can see it, though. You like the big guys. The strong ones. They make you feel safe, like a little girl in her Daddy's arms. Does your roommate have many muscles, or is he unable to satisfy you like Mario—"

"You don't know _what_ the fuck you're talking about," Gary growled, but he was still shaking. "Mario and I are bros."

"Not hoes?"

"We're _dudes_," Gary hissed. "We're tight."

"I bet he's _really _tight," Greg smirked. "That's why you like him so much, isn't it?"

"Mario Martinez, alright?!" Gary cried. "Just... just stop saying that _shit_ about me."

Greg nodded. "Where is he?"

"I don't _know_!" Gary roared.

"You must know something," Greg pressed. "An address, a phone number..."

"555-8497!" Gary yelled. "There, ya happy?!"

Greg rose to his feet. "Very," he said. He was about to hang up the phone when he had an afterthought. "You know, I find it very telling that you're willing to protect him and serve a longer sentence, but if someone tries to call you gay, you give him up in a heartbeat." He made to hang up again, but then stopped. "Oh, and by the way, I'm still testifying at your trial, you vile piece of _shit_. Have fun screwing your roommate."

He hung up, and was therefore deaf to the furious yells and curses from the con, who was now being restrained by the prison guards.

* * *

Sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair meant that Nick had to constantly change his position, and he forced his mind to do the same, so as not to dwell on one subject for longer than he needed to. Generally, that meant shifting between Bryce and Greg, and occasionally Warrick, although he tried to distract himself with thoughts of what Sara was doing, or the case he was working on—he couldn't recall the victim's name and wondered if that was a bad sign—and sometimes he would think of his family, and how they would react if they ever found out he had fallen in love with another man.

Still, his thoughts always twisted around and squirmed their way back to thoughts of his current situation. After Greg had mentioned Warrick, the old friend's face lingered on his mind. Nick's heart pattered in his chest, and he was worried it would stop altogether if anything happened to Greg. He toyed with the idea of going after him, but he wasn't sure where Greg was, and he knew if he called, Greg wouldn't tell him. As concerned as he was, he only told Grissom and Brass that Greg hadn't told Nick where he was going. This served its purpose well enough. It meant that Brass and Grissom were suspicious and were prepared to do something if they needed to, but he hadn't betrayed Greg. Even though he hadn't made any real promises, it felt good to know that. A tiny voice in the back of his mind that sounded disturbingly like Warrick told him that Greg knew what he was doing. And he naively believed it.

Squirming again in his chair, he caught sight of Catherine across the room, who hadn't seemed to have moved since she'd arrived. His eyes flickered over to Grissom, who was patiently flipping through _TIME Magazine _and intermittently looking at his watch. His gaze drifted on to Brass, who stood by the door, occasionally tilting his head to check on the article Grissom was reading, but more often looking out into the hall to see if he could catch Bryce's doctor. He, too, frequently checked his watch.

But Catherine was an alabaster statue, her graceful body hunched over as she rested her forearms on her knees, her fingertips lightly touching each other. She reminded Nick of a much prettier, but equally cold version of Rodin's _The Thinker_.

This intrigued him. He rose from his chair and kneeled down in front of her, bringing life to the sculpture instantly as she tilted her head to receive him. She parted her chapped, pale pink lips and simply said, "Hey."

He slowly smiled and returned the greeting. "Hey."

The two of them said nothing for a moment as Catherine's icy eyes bore into his. "You and Greg..." she whispered tonelessly. "How long exactly has this been going on?"

"On again off again for about a month and a half," Nick replied. "Mostly on, thankfully. Greg had a bit of a crisis after that thing with Roberts, but... Actually, we just kind of worked through it tonight. But you look like something bigger than Greg and me is on your mind."

She nodded. "You always were good at reading people."

"So what is it?"

She glanced at Grissom, but he seemed focused on his magazine. Brass, however, was watching them intently. She licked her lips. "Do you remember when Sara first came here, to investigate Holly's death?"

"Yeah," said Nick. "What makes you think of that?"

"I think I have an issue with letting things go."

"What do you mean?"

Catherine sighed. "I was angry at Sara, because she took my case away. But it was more than that. I knew she would be there to stay. I knew that she would do the job that Holly had been hired to do. And I had only known Holly a day or two before she died, but I still felt like that was wrong somehow. Like everyone was replaceable, and no one would notice or remember that there used to be someone else in that job, that there used to be someone who gave everything they had, including their lives to the job. And after Warrick died, I treated Bryce the same way. Only it was worse than it was with Sara, because..." She closed her eyes and Nick noticed her eyeliner was smudged. She took a shuddering breath, then exhaled quickly. "I should have been a better friend to her. Better than I was. But I couldn't stand looking at her and thinking that she wouldn't be here at all, we wouldn't need her, if only..."

Slowly, an idea began to creep into Nick's head as he read Catherine's body language, but it wasn't fully formed. "I miss him too."

And at these words, Catherine sniffed and closed her eyes again before blinking rapidly. "I miss him _so much_..." Her voice was louder now, strained with unexpressed fears. "And Sara is gone, and _he's_ gone, if anything happens to Bryce, I will _never_ be able to... And what's worse is, what if someone comes in and replaces _her_, and I won't be able to get past it, and the whole cycle just begins all over again..."

Nick reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. "I think you're better than you're giving yourself credit for. You warmed up to Bryce a lot in these last few weeks. We _both_ have. And she's noticed, I know she has. And if... if she really _does_... you know, die..." Why did that word sound so taboo? "... then... then we'll adjust. We'll deal. We'll help each other through it. And whoever comes next, you will know, you will _know_... that person isn't trying to replace anyone. They just want to collect evidence and speak for the victims. Just like you. Just like me."

Catherine's voice was back down to a whisper as she smiled through her grief. "I just wish I had someone to hold me like you do," she said.

And then, the half-formed idea finally grew into a full-blown realization. "Were you and Warrick...?"

"Oh God, I wish," Catherine said, and the repressed yearning in her voice told Nick that she very badly did. "Every day, I wished, and some days, I think he wished too, but I don't think we would have done well together. It's probably... We probably worked better as friends."

Nick had a feeling she was just rationalizing, but he let her have it. "You two were tight," he remembered. "I know he cared about you a lot."

Catherine reached out and cupped Nick's cheek in her hand as she shook her head. "Of course a guy like you would be gay. I should have seen it years ago."

Nick had to smile at her, absolutely baffled. "Why?"

She pursed her lips. "Because no straight guy could ever understand me quite the way you can. Not even Warrick, God bless him."

"Gil Grissom?"

Both Nick and Catherine looked up at the name, but Grissom was already on his feet as the doctor gestured with his head that he wanted a word with him outside. Grissom left and Brass followed him out.

Nick and Catherine's eyes locked, a mutual fear engulfing the both of them until all that was left were their rapid heartbeats.

* * *

"My name is Dr. Kenmore, I'm treating Bryce for her injuries," the surgeon said in somber tones to both Grissom and Brass. "I understand you are her employer."

Grissom nodded yes. "Her parents have been notified, but they can't get in until later this morning. I spoke with them, and they would like me to know what's going on."

Dr. Kenmore gave a curt nod. "The good news is that neither wound punctured a major organ. Her main problem is blood loss. She lost about three and a half pints." Grissom winced visibly and Kenmore noticed. "You're in law enforcement, so I'm sure you know what that means. She experienced class three hemorrhaging, and we did the transfusion when two complications occurred. The first complication occurred almost immediately after we began the transfusion. Her body had lost so much blood that her brain was without oxygen for about four and a half minutes. And just after the transfusion began, Nurse Summers noticed a severe drop in brain activity. Luckily, we were able to bring her back from that, but shortly thereafter, the second complication occurred. Her antibodies attacked the new blood cells. We needed to stop the transfusion immediately. Her file says she's B negative, and the donated blood was labeled similarly, until we realized that somehow, an extra dash had been added on."

"You gave her the wrong _blood type_?!" Brass sounded outraged.

"Jim," Grissom said coolly, although he seemed perturbed. "Let him continue."

"I have no excuse for that," said Dr. Kenmore. "But I can say that we were able to rectify that mistake immediately."

"And her brain?" Grissom asked, his voice deathly calm. "Will it recover?"

Dr. Kenmore held his breath. "We don't know yet."

"If she dies," Brass began icily, "prepare yourself for a malpractice suit. Because her father is a doctor, and if he finds out that the cost of a labeling mistake was his daughter's life, he will have your head."

Dr. Kenmore paled, but his voice was steady. "I assure you and Dr. Adams by proxy that we are doing _everything_ in our power to ensure that Bryce pulls through. As of now, she is stable. Recovery is not unobtainable. I have seen worse cases wake up after only a few weeks—"

"Thank you, Dr. Kenmore," Grissom said steadily. "If you excuse me, I have to call this girl's parents."

Dr. Kenmore's mouth snapped shut and he nodded before turning back down the hall, leaving Grissom and Brass alone to tell Catherine and Nick the news.

Grissom turned to Brass, his face blank. "Bryce's father is a psychiatrist, not a surgeon," he said.

"He's still a doctor," Brass contested.

They entered the small waiting room to see Catherine and Nick gripping each other's hand tightly. Both of them were watching Grissom and Brass with anxious, hopeful eyes. Grissom must have mirrored Brass's grim expression, because he watched some of the hope fade from the pairs of eyes that were watching him, waiting.

Grissom opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was tired of being the bearer of bad news. But it needed to be said.

Fortunately for Grissom, Brass stepped up to the plate and said four simple words. "She's in a coma."


	16. The Dark

**_Author's Note:_** One final chapter after this, and then an epilogue. Almost over.

* * *

**Sixteen**

Greg sat in his car, waiting for Archie's call to tell him the address on Mario Martinez's driver's license, praying that the man actually had one. He had yet to call Brass, or any other detective for that matter, to tell them that he knew the name of the man who attacked both him and Bryce. But that could wait. First, he had a score to settle.

He tightened his grip on his steering wheel, his eyes continually darting to his phone.

_It would be so easy..._

_No_, he told himself resolutely. _Don't be stupid. You promised Nick you would be reasonable about this. Don't do it. That's how accidents happen. Let the police handle this. Call Brass. Now._

He bit his lip and reached for his phone, but the number he dialed did not lead him to Jim Brass.

"Yo."

"This Mario?" Greg asked, adding a tinge of a New York accent to his voice. "Name's Logan. I'm a friend of Gary's. Dude told me to hit you up for some..." He tried to think. "E."

"Don't got E, man," said Mario. "And if I did, I don't sell to guys I don't know."

"Aw, man, come on, I'm really jonesin'!" Greg pressed. "Come on, man, Gary and I go way back, he can _totally_ vouch for me. I'd tell ya to call him, but what with him bein' in the slammer and all, that's probably gonna be hard to do."

"Gary who?" Mario asked suspiciously.

"G-Rob, man!" Greg cried, surprising himself at the impromptu nickname. "You know, Roberts, the G man, the Big Bad Wolf, you know, we call him that cuz he's so much like a winy little pig, right? It's ironical or somethin', I dunno."

"Gary vouches for ya, huh?" said Mario, still sounding unsure. "What the fuck does 'vouch' mean?!"

Greg realized that his minimal vocabulary far outstripped that of this dumb piece of muscle. So he decided his character would be one of those arrogant New Yorkers who thought he knew everything. "Vouch, you know, from the Latin, er, uh... vouchera— which means to speak for, to claim is totally chill, you hear what I'm saying, bro?" Greg winced at how ridiculous that whole sentence sounded.

Lucky for him, Mario seemed as slow as he was large. "Right... yeah, I knew that. OK, fine. You want some E?"

"Yeah, man, and now would be preferable," said Greg. "Where can I meet you? You got a house or somethin' I can swing by?"

"No, never let anyone see where I live, s'risky," said Mario. "I make my deals at Finley Park. Meet me by the fountain in fifteen minutes. Bring cash. Lots of cash."

"Cash I got," Greg said. "I'll see you there."

He hung up, and again, he considered calling Brass. But if the police showed up and arrested Mario right away, he would never be able to get his hands on the monster. Still, Greg was no idiot, and he kept his promises. As he pulled out onto the road, he held his phone to his ear again.

"Brass," came the brisk reply.

"I know who Mario is," said Greg. "I had Archie look up his address."

"Good," Brass said. "Good work, Greg. Where does he live?"

"I'm still waiting to hear back on that," Greg told him honestly. He hesitated. "Also..."

"Also what, Greg?" Brass pressed.

_Also I planned to meet him in the park in a few minutes to score some ecstasy and kick his ass a little._ "He deals drugs at Finley Park, by the fountain. He'll be there in..." _Think._ "Twenty minutes." Greg would be there in ten.

"How do you know that, Greg?" Brass asked slowly, afraid he already knew the answer.

"Just send over a couple cars," said Greg. "I can handle the rest."

"You have got to be kidding me," Brass breathed. "Don't do a thing, Sanders, I'm coming over there myself."

"He killed Bryce, Jim."

He heard the detective hesitate. "She's a fighter, Greg, and he hasn't killed her yet."

Details. Greg didn't care. "He stabbed her three times in the back. That's gotta count for something." Greg's eyes were stinging but he ignored it.

"Greg, don't be a fucking hero." It wasn't Brass on the line, and that sweet Texan drawl made his stomach churn. "Remember what you promised?"

"Nick? What are you doing on the phone?" he asked.

"Listen, Brass and I are on our way, OK, just... don't be _stupid_. Don't you remember what happened the _last_ time you went up against this guy?"

"Yeah, I do!" Greg returned. "He made me feel powerless! I just want to show him that I'm not."

"You have _nothing_ to prove to anyone, Greg," Nick told him. "You never did."

It didn't matter, because the park was a block away. "When will you guys get here?" he asked.

"Ten minutes. Just... stay where you are, OK? Don't even try to meet with this guy."

"He thinks I'm a drug addict," Greg said. "If I keep my head low, in the shadows, he probably won't even recognize me. He's an _idiot_, trust me." He put his car in park and looked out the window at the eerie trees, which loomed over the path, naked in early December. Greg climbed out of the car. "I gotta go," he told Nick. "See you soon."

"Greg—"

He put his phone into his pocket and put the hood of his jacket up as he entered the park, his hands shoved deep into the depths of the windbreaker Nick had lent him after he turned his shirt in as evidence. Greg focused on his breathing as he drew nearer and nearer to the fountain, something black and heavy wrapping around his heart like a shroud. He hesitated when the marble fountain came into view and he saw no one there. He moved a little closer to get a better view and then stopped on the path altogether. Maybe he was too early. Maybe Mario wasn't there yet.

_He better get here soon,_ Greg thought to himself. Still, he approached the fountain and sat on the edge of it, just waiting. He waited five minutes. _Dammit, he is _very_ late_, Greg cursed. And then, he heard a voice behind him that almost made him fall back into the fountain.

"You got the cash?"

"Yeah," Greg said standing up, making sure to keep his head low. He dug in his back pocket and made it look like he was searching for the cash. The man was larger than he remembered, and he suddenly wondered if he was overconfident. But as Mario waited for him to get the cash, he swiftly pulled his hand out of his pocket and struck Mario clear across the face. The thug stumbled backwards before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a pocket knife. "You wanna fight, little man? Think you can get a free hit off a me?"

Greg's hands clenched into fists. He suddenly wished he had his gun, but raw fury was his weapon of choice now as the adrenaline rushed through his system. Mario came at him with the knife, but Greg caught his wrist with his left hand and decked him in the stomach as hard as he could. Mario doubled over and Greg took his chance to thrust his knee upward into Mario's solar plexus, making the man splutter stumble backwards. Mario wavered as he regained his footing. His knife hand was hanging low and Greg made a grab for it but Mario slashed at him and cut into his arm. Feeling nothing, Greg brought his elbow down on Mario's back and began landing hits on his spine until the man fell to the ground. He rolled onto his back and slashed at Greg's shins, but Greg leapt backwards, his defense training suddenly working beautifully until he realized that he hadn't learned _kicking a man on the ground_ in any of his classes. It took him a moment to realize that it's difficult to use defense moves when you're on the offensive. Even so, he didn't care.

And then, he heard sirens.

But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Something dark had possessed him, the black shroud pumping his heart to a new rhythm as it egged him on, hissing oddly encouraging jeers into his ear as he heard his blood rush like waterfalls. "_Faggot_," they hissed. "_Queer. Fairy. Funny boy. Fruitcake. You couldn't save Warrick. You couldn't stop Sara from leaving. You ran over a teenage boy with your car and feigned innocence in a courtroom. What good are you, Greg? You can't help anyone, all you do is cause pain… So do what you do best, Greg. Cause pain._"

For a moment, he lost himself altogether, focused only on bringing pain, on revenge, for everything and on everyone that had ever thought that they could get the best of Nice Guy Greg Sanders. Something inside of him snapped and he lost all control of himself, continuing to kick and beat the exhausted Mario until a new voice penetrated his thoughts, that clear, deep, demanding voice, which broke his spell with just one word.

"_Greg!_"

And then, it all stopped, and all of the blood rushed from his head and down to his feet he felt dizzy, but his feet were like anvils. He stumbled backwards, his calves coming in contact with the short marble wall of the fountain as he stared at the bruised and bloody heap on the ground, struggling to get up on all fours. Greg's eyes moved upward to see Nick waving a flashlight at him and running forward. Greg held up a hand to shield his eyes from the white glare as Nick seized him by the arms. He was breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused, not exactly sure of what had just happened. He felt Nick shake him and he blinked, looking back at Nick, and there was only one thing he could think to say.

"You don't have to protect me anymore. I can take care of myself."

Nick's face was twisted into a bewildered expression as he stared at Greg. "You always could, Greg. You always could."

Greg watched as Brass ran forward with two officers to check on Mario. Brass looked up at Greg as if seeing him for the first time, and not liking what he saw.

Greg was suddenly very cold. Nick seemed to notice as the Texan took off his jacket and draped it over Greg's windbreaker. "Greg, you don't look too good."

His heart was racing ahead of his breathing. He was freezing, and yet he felt a bead of sweat slide down the side of his face. "I'm exhausted..." he breathed.

"You're really pale, man," Nick said, looking worried. "Come on... follow me."

And Greg passively allowed Nick to steer him away from the scene as the officers took care of it. Greg wondered vaguely how badly he had hurt Mario, and if he would be charged with assault himself. He laughed at the irony, and Nick thought he was going crazy.

"You're acting like Bryce on coke, G" Nick said, meaning it as a joke, but the comment made Greg plant his feet on the ground. Flashes of headstones and dead roses raced before his vision.

"Please don't bring her up," Greg whispered.

"I'm sorry..." Nick said slowly. "Would you keep walking, please? You're kind of scaring me."

"It's just the adrenaline, it's left me a little loopy," Greg said, but he didn't know if that was the truth or not. Something else had left him. Something had fled his body at the sound of Nick's voice, and Greg was glad that it was gone. He hadn't liked the black thoughts that had plagued his mind, or the satisfying thrill of beating a man on the ground. His actions terrified him, but he didn't want to admit it to Nick. Not now.

Nick opened the door for Greg and he collapsed into the passenger's seat. He stared at the sky above the trees and realized it wasn't black but a deep blue that slowly bled into violet on the horizon. _It must be close to sunrise_... he thought. _How long has it been since Bryce was stabbed? How long was she laying on that cold kitchen floor before we showed up? Warrick died in five minutes of agony, all alone. How long had Bryce been alone?_

"I'm really sorry, Nick," Greg choked, his voice refusing to remain steady.

"I understand why you did it," Nick said as he pulled out of the parking lot, although his voice was cold. "I would have probably done the same thing, if I were you."

"Not that," Greg whispered. "I'm really sorry about Warrick."

The car swerved slightly and Greg almost regretted opening an old wound. "That wasn't your fault."

"No, but I'm sorry anyway," Greg said. "I remember how messed up you were in the few weeks after it happened. I thought I sort of understood, because I thought I'd lost him too, you know? But I didn't. I didn't even begin to understand what it's like to have someone so close to you just suddenly ripped out of your life so fast."

Nick frowned, pensively. "Why do you keep talking like this? Why are you talking like Bryce is already dead?"

"I guess I'm just preparing myself," Greg finally admitted, to Nick and to himself. "I don't want to have all this hope just to have it be shattered. I'd rather be pleasantly surprised."

Nick seemed to contemplate something, but by his sudden change in topic, Greg mused that the Texan had decided against whatever else he had wanted to say on the subject. "You should go home and get some sleep."

"You should drive me to the hospital," Greg countered, his voice calm.

"I'm driving you home," Nick said, this time more sternly.

He looked apathetically at his wounded arm. "My arm..." he muttered feebly.

"It's not that deep," said Nick, stubbornly.

Greg didn't understand why Nick was so keen to keep him away from the hospital. Especially since he was generally protective to a fault. But Greg just closed his eyes and shook his head. "I did it. I went out, and I got him for her. You didn't even get that, and I threw it in your face. We still don't know who killed Warrick."

"You didn't want me to talk about Bryce," Nick said, his voice eerily quiet. "I would really appreciate it if you stopped talking about Warrick."

"But we never talk about him, do we?" Greg pointed out. "I don't think I've heard you mention him once since you were in the hospital, and then tonight... In fact, I was the one that brought him up. You never bring him up."

"There's a reason for that."

Greg watched Nick for a moment. "Did you love him?"

Nick frowned and glanced at Greg. "Yeah. He was my best friend."

"That's not what I mean," Greg clarified. "I mean, did you _love_ him?"

"No," Nick said, suddenly grasping Greg's meaning. "No, 'Rick and I... It was never that way between us. You're the only one who ever... Since Sean, you're the only man who ever got under my skin. Warrick was my brother, and I loved him for that. But you..." He didn't finish.

"Are you ambivalent too?" Greg asked after a moment.

A smile flickered briefly across Nick's face before vanishing again. "You're the only ambivalent one in this relationship, Greg. You've always been restless and moving around, unsure of what you wanted, confused about who you are. Someday maybe you'll settle down. Someday, you might have it all figured out and maybe then you'll be satisfied. But as for me, I know what I want."

A strange quiet invaded the car as Greg watched Nick drive down the road, his eyes focused on the windshield, his toned arms straight out as he gripped the wheel. Greg watched his chest rise up and down, and noticed the smile lines at the corners of his eyes, as well as the beginning of dark circles beneath them. He was calm and serene, and he was sturdy. He was a rock, an anchor that kept Greg grounded in reality even as his head floated off his shoulders and into the sky. He may be restless, and he may stray, but he would always return to Nick.

"And what do you want, Nick?" Greg whispered.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Nick replied.

Greg blinked. "I want you too."

"What happened to your ambivalence?" Nick asked with a smirk.

"I'm still restless," Greg explained. "I'm still confused. I still don't know who I am, or what it all means. But I know what I want, too. It's one thing I have figured out." He noticed a street sign coming up. "Turn here," he told Nick, but the Texan just kept driving. Greg sighed and slumped in his seat. He knew that without control of the wheel, he couldn't make Nick go anywhere he didn't want to go. And so, he admitted defeat. "At least when you take me home, will you stay with me a while?"

"You think I was just going to leave you on your doorstep and run?" Nick said with a raise of his eyebrow.

"I just would have thought... Bryce..."

"Grissom is on strict orders to call me the second there's any information on her," Nick explained. "It'll be quicker to relay that information if you're in the same room as me."

Greg smirked. "Same bed, even."

"Oh, well you know, I was going to be polite and take your couch, but if you _insist_—"

"Oh, shut up," Greg interrupted, cutting through Nick's game. "Don't even try to pretend like you're a nice guy. I've seen you in bed, remember?"

Nick snorted and Greg swore that his cheeks grew slightly darker. "Oh yes. I remember."

They pulled up outside of Greg's apartment and exited the car at the same time, turning to look at each other over the roof with identical smiles. They did not speak as they entered Greg's apartment building, because they had already said all that needed saying. They shared an amicable silence as they waited side by side in the elevator, and Greg had an eerie flashback to what had happened there only eighteen hours ago. Suddenly unnerved, he unconsciously moved closer to Nick, who seemed to detect the change and him, and without a word his hand entangled itself with Greg's, who laid his head appreciatively on the Texan's shoulder, closing his eyes. He was so tired. It had been an exhausting night, and the fight with Mario had drained him of energy. All he wanted to do was fall asleep right there in that elevator, resting on Nick's shoulder and listening to his steady breathing. The sleepy, bitter, mixed aroma of sweat and day-old cologne and that distinctly spicy-Nick scent enveloped him, and he was almost unbearably warm now beneath his windbreaker and Nick's jacket. If the elevator hadn't stopped on the fourth floor and opened, he may have passed out right there.

Lucky for him, Nick seemed to sense his great fatigue and supported him as he half stumbled down the hall to his door. And once inside, Nick led him to the bedroom. He stretched as he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shirt, but he seemed to forget that he was wearing jeans as he gratefully climbed on top of his bed and hugged his pillow, his eyes falling closed as he fell into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.


	17. Hideaway

**_Author's Note:_** I'm glad you folks have enjoyed this. Epilogue will be posted tomorrow, along with previews of other things I'm working on. The first scene of this chapter was yet again strongly influenced by a scene in _Angels In America_-- the one in which Harper is in Prior's dream-- or Prior is in Harper's hallucination. We're never sure. ;o)

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

Greg sat in the DNA lab looking at slide after slide of biological evidence. Each slide looked identical to the last, but he devoutly continued in the monotonous pattern as if it held some sort of spiritual significance to him. He wasn't sure why he kept doing it, but he did. This evidence needed to be identified and catalogued and, preferably, matched to a suspect, victim, or person of interest. Or at least someone whose DNA they had on file.

Not all of them did.

But Greg identified and catalogued it all in such mechanical movements, one might have mistook him for a automaton.

"What are you doing?"

He stopped and looked for the source of the question when he saw a familiar girl with red hair standing in the doorway of his lab. "DNA. It's kinda my thing."

She frowned. "Since when?"

"Since always."

"I thought you were a CSI, not a lab tech," she said, stepping under the harsh florescent lights of the lab. She was wearing the same black dress she had worn to Greg's apartment that night they had slept together.

Greg shook his head. "I began here," he explained. "As confining as it is, it's also oddly comforting. I've been thinking for a while now that I don't belong in the field. Too many things can go wrong out there. Maybe Hodges was right."

"Am I dead?" Bryce asked curiously. "And if I am... why do I still see you? And does you being here mean that I'm in Heaven or... or am I in Hell?"

"Such philosophical questions are best kept for waking moments," said Greg. "I thought I was done dreaming about you. And yet, here you are. What are you doing in my dream, Bry?"

"I'm not in your dream, you're in my after life," she commented. "Though why my after life looks like the DNA lab, I have no idea."

Greg tossed her a funny look. "You don't look very dead to me."

She sighed. "I feel it. It's like I'm standing outside of this big black door, and I can open it and just walk inside and it would be as simple as that. And behind me, there's this small hole, that leads to a tunnel, and I could go that way, but I would have to crawl and I would have to fight to make it out of there, and I won't be able to breathe. But I'm afraid of the door. I don't know what to do."

"Why are you afraid of the door?" Greg asked.

"Because of Nina," Bryce confessed.

"I don't know what that means..." Greg said slowly.

"Nina," Bryce explained, "was my college roommate freshman year. She killed herself."

"By walking through a door...?"

"Don't you get it?" Bryce asked. "The door is a metaphor."

"Believe me, I get it," said Greg. "I get a lot of things. You didn't kill her, you know." He saw into her then, as if she were a reflecting pool, shallow and shimmering and clearer than anything else he had ever seen. He knew everything. He knew what she needed to hear. What she wanted to hear. "You couldn't have prevented the rape."

Her eyes doubled in size. "How do you know...?"

"Sometimes, dreams like these are the very threshold of revelation," Greg replied with an enigmatic smirk. "What happened to her, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known how upset she was. She used to cry a lot, even before she was raped."

"I could have been a friend, and not just a roommate," said Bryce. "I could have tried."

"You don't know if it would have changed anything," Greg told her. "She was further gone than you think she was."

"You can't know all this," said Bryce. "It's impossible."

"I don't know what's possible and what's impossible..." Greg whispered. "A year ago, if you'd have told me that Sara would just abandon us without even so much as a 'see you later,' I would have said you were crazy. Six months ago, if you'd have told me that one day, Warrick would be laughing and breathing and eating with us at the diner, and the next he would be stone cold, I would have said that would never happen. Two months ago, if you'd have told me that I would kiss Nick Stokes in a locker room after a huge fight over a girl I liked..." He trailed off. He didn't have to finish. He'd made his point.

"I know that you love him very much," she whispered.

"Am I that obvious?" Greg asked with a laugh.

"Threshold of revelation," Bryce echoed with a sad smile.

And he saw it in her too, for there were no secrets between them here, in this place. There were no hiding places, no masks, and no words to conceal themselves with. "I'm so sorry I can't love you the same way you love me," he said quietly. "But understand that I _do_ love you."

She nodded, because he could not lie to her anymore. "I know."

He rose to his feet and walked towards her. Her eyes traced the name on his lab coat as he put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"I can't lie to you," he said.

"I know."

"I can't tell you to go through that door."

"I know."

"I can't tell you that I want you to be at peace. That I want you to finally lay down your arms and stop fighting. Because the truth is, I know that if we lost you, it would be the end of everything. I know that Catherine would break down with guilt. That Grissom wouldn't be able to hire another CSI. That Brass would turn in his badge. That Nick would get stoned again and do something stupid."

"I know." Her voice seemed to grow a little quieter with every second.

"But I can't, in good conscience, tell you to turn around, to fight a battle that I don't even know if I could handle myself. I can't tell you what to do, Bryce. You know what I want. You know where I stand. But this is your battle, and I can't fight it for you."

She nodded, and a tear streamed down her cheek. "I know."

It was hard to say anything worthwhile in this place, when all that needed to be said was already known. But she reached out and clasped his hand and revealed a truth that had been very cloudy to him until she spoke the words out loud.

"There is a part of you that will always be still."

And in a blink, she was gone, and he was alone in his lab.

* * *

Nick could not find sleep as easily as Greg. He stood in the corner of Greg's room as he watched the younger man's back rise up and down, his arm stretched across his bed as he kicked in his sleep. The sight brought an amused smile to Nick's lips. The deeper his slumber, the more Greg seemed to like to spread out on his bed, until he was laying spread eagled across it on his stomach.

The holidays were drawing near, and so was the annual increase in suicides and cold weather, but Nick felt warm when he was with Greg. Even if they weren't touching, even if Nick was standing ten feet away from him in the corner of his bedroom, there was something about the younger man's presence that the Texan found simply soothing. He always had. But now, it brought a particular sense of warmth, a sense of belonging, that it never used to hold before they had admitted their feelings for each other.

He recalled a phrase his father had told him when he had left Texas for the first time. _Home is a state of mind_. He had mistaken Nick's anxieties about moving for depression from leaving his childhood home behind when in truth Nick was just itching to get out of the Lone Star State and see what the world looked like beyond its borders. He had intended on joining the Peace Corps, going overseas, to South America maybe, and sleeping on the ground as he brought help to those who really needed him. But he had never gotten past Las Vegas. A part of him regretted that. But the rest of him knew that if he _had_ left Vegas like he had intended, then he wouldn't be here, with Greg, feeling at home for the first time in many, many years.

He moved towards the bed and kneeled down on the floor, watching his lover reverently as he slept. He delicately took Greg's hand and clasped it between his, mildly surprised by how clammy it felt in his grasp. He felt the paranoia rising in his chest and resisted the urge to feel Greg's forehead. _He's fine,_ Nick assured himself. _It's been a long day._

He felt slightly guilty about not telling Greg about Bryce. But the younger man was too exhausted to be concerned with that. _Let him sleep,_ Nick told himself. _Let him have one more good dream before he needs to know_.

As if to spite his silent prayer, Greg's face contorted into a confused expression as his muscles tensed. He turned his head into the pillow and retracted his arms close into his chest. Nick crawled onto the bed and tried to calm him down. Greg rolled over to face Nick, his eyes closed tightly and Nick enveloped him in his arms, trying to stop his shaking as he wrestled with his nightmare. He softly stroked Greg's hair, the younger man restless in his embrace, unaware of the Texan's tender touch. Nick slowly moved upwards, cradling Greg's head against his chest. A part of Nick wanted to wake him, to save him from the torments of his own imagination, but he knew that if he woke Greg, Nick would have to tell him about Bryce.

After a few more minutes of disturbed sleep, Greg stopped struggling, and his breathing became steadier. His face was buried in Nick's stomach and his body seemed to contract further as his arms reached out across Nick's waist, pulling him closer.

"I had a bad dream," Nick heard him say into the cloth of his shirt. He turned his head to look at the Texan with sleepy eyes. "Has Grissom called yet?"

"No," Nick whispered, still mechanically stroking Greg's hair. "What did you dream about?"

"I don't remember." He yawned and stretched his shoulders. Nick took the moment to sit up in the bed, resting against the headboard and watching Greg intently. The younger man moved closer to him again, resting his ear against Nick's stomach and the Texan wrapped his arm caringly around Greg's bare back, rubbing slowly up and down as Greg closed his eyes again, feeling the ridges of Nick's calloused fingertips against his skin.

Nick's eyes drifted over to the mirror above Greg's dresser and smiled slightly at the sight that greeted him. Greg's eyes were closed, but his lips were curled upwards, his arm draped casually and yet oddly possessively across Nick's hips. If Nick didn't feel Greg's fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, he would have thought the younger man had fallen back asleep. He watched himself in the mirror for a little longer, and watched Greg too, adoring that innocent smile, and wishing he didn't have to wipe it away. So he procrastinated for several more minutes, hoping Greg would fall asleep again and he wouldn't have to tell him until a few hours later, when they had more news, when they knew for sure, when they were out of this hellish limbo and actually knew if Bryce had a chance or not.

"This is annoying," Greg muttered.

Nick didn't know what he was commenting on. "What is?"

He saw Greg's smile morph into a smirk in the mirror as his hand moved under Nick's shirt to rub his side. "Clothes. Clothes are annoying."

Greg's head bobbed up and down as Nick laughed. "Greg..." he began.

The younger man must have sensed his tension because he planted his hands on the bed, one on either side of Nick's hips and turned towards Nick, looking concerned.

Nick searched for the words. "Greg, I..."

But his lover said nothing, he only moved to straddle Nick's thighs, sitting up on his knees and cocking his head to the side. Slowly, he moved forward, his lips barely touching Nick's in the softest, teasing kiss. The Texan closed his eyes, savoring the feel of Greg's breath on his lips. He had no discipline. He moved his head forward until Greg's upper lip was between both of his own. Greg's hands were resting lightly on his shoulders and Nick slid his own up and down Greg's bare sides. Greg began to firmly massage Nick's shoulders and his tension melted away. And then, the younger man broke the kiss, tilting his head down and peering curiously into Nick's eyes.

"Relax," he whispered, his hands roaming down Nick's chest and up again. "Everything will turn out OK."

But guilt gripped Nick's stomach. "Greg, I need to tell you something about Bryce."

Greg's face twisted into a peculiar frown. "I thought you said Grissom didn't call."

"This is from before," Nick explained. "I should have told you earlier, but I was afraid."

Greg leaned back, obviously disturbed by Nick's words. "What do you know, Nick?"

He took a deep, quivering breath and felt his eyes begin to sting again. He realized they were doing more than just stinging when Greg's expression changed and he brushed his thumb against Nick's cheek. Greg didn't seem worried, just strangely confused as he waited for Nick to answer his question. "She's..." He pursed his lips and shook his head. "She lost a lot of blood, Greg. Her brain suffered the consequences of that."

"I know she's not dead," Greg said quietly.

Nick frowned. "How do you know that?"

"I just do," Greg replied, as if it was common knowledge.

"A few hours ago, you kept acting as if she were," Nick pointed out. "What's gotten into you?"

"What are you avoiding telling me?" Greg returned. "She's not dead. So what is it?"

Nick swallowed. "She's in a coma," he explained.

Greg seemed unfazed. "Oh."

"We don't know how long that'll last," Nick told him. "Grissom... isn't at the hospital anymore. No one is. There was nothing more to wait for there."

"So she's all alone..." Greg's eyes drifted off to the corner of the room and Nick would have given anything to know what the younger man was thinking at that moment.

He panicked. "Would you rather be with her right now?" It had come out wrong. That wasn't what he meant.

But Greg caught the jealousy in his voice anyway and his eyes darted back to Nick's. "What?"

"I mean..." Nick tried to cover his tracks while simultaneously trying to control his swiftly beating heart. "Would you like me to drive you over there? To sit with her. You know, in case she..."

"That's not what you said," Greg noted, shrewdly.

"It's what I meant," Nick assured him.

But Greg smiled, his hands traveling south, brushing against Nick's chest until he reached the hem of the Texan's shirt and tugged it upwards. Nick cooperated, although he was a little confused, allowing Greg to pull the shirt off over his head. "That's better," said Greg. "I didn't think it was fair that I was half naked and you weren't."

Nick's lips twitched. "Fair is fair," he muttered.

Greg's mouth moved to the side of his face as he formed a plan. He rolled off of Nick and unzipped his jeans. Nick raised a quizzical eyebrow as Greg kicked them off of the bed and cast Nick a mischievous look.

"Fair is fair," Greg repeated.

Nick couldn't help but emitted a small, "Ha!" as he gawked at Greg. "I don't get you and your mood swings, Sanders."

Greg surprised him by pouncing on him, crushing their lips together in a needy but passionate kiss. He broke away just as abruptly, but he was no longer smiling. "I need this, Nicky. Just... please. Please, just give this to me."

And it was then that Nick realized what he was doing. "You'll have to face this eventually."

"But not now," said Greg. "Not here. Not with you. Not so long as we're confined to this bedroom. As far as I'm concerned, there is no one, no place, no world outside of these four walls. There is only you, and there is only me."

Nick favored him with a sad smile as he pushed Greg's unruly hair away from his face. "I'm gonna need to get you a haircut," he said.

"You and your electric razor aren't getting _near_ my hair, GI Joe!" Greg returned.

And then, Nick smirked, and he seized Greg by the hips and flipped him onto his back. He had the younger man pinned now and looking up at Nick with adoring eyes. And staring back into him, Nick found himself forgetting the world as well, and it was a feeling he rather enjoyed. And if this was what Greg wanted, if this was what Greg needed, then he was only too happy to oblige. He leaned in lower then, planting brief, sharp kisses on Greg's lips and the side of his jaw as he trailed down his neck, halting momentarily there as his actions elicited a throaty, appreciative groan from Greg which he felt beneath his lips. Greg's fingers crawled up Nick's sides and grasped his head before he whispered, almost inaudibly, the only words that could make Nick halt in his tracks.

"I love you."

The words were so quiet that for a moment, Nick thought he had misheard, but he stopped and hoisted himself up so he could look down at Greg, whose eyes were still closed. The younger man realized that Nick's attentions were no longer on his neck and he opened his eyes. Either the expression on Nick's face was transparent, or Greg could read his thoughts, because he nodded, assuredly, silently telling Nick, _Yes, you heard right._

Something sharp and frozen inside of Nick shattered. Something he hadn't even realized was there until he felt the liquid warmth that had been imprisoned inside of it ooze out and into his blood stream, sending tingles to his finger tips and forcing his face to flush as he stared down at his lover, who was staring back at him, and Nick knew for the first time that Greg was entirely, incontrovertibly, decisively his _own_.

He wanted to say something worthwhile to mark the occasion, to match the affirmation that Greg had so trustingly confessed. But his breathing was irregular, and his need to be as close to Greg as possible was overwhelming, but most of all he felt the urge to ask, "Why?"

In contrast to Nick, Greg's breathing was slow and sure. He grasped Nick by the shoulders and moved him back onto the bed next to him until Nick was lying on his side, still watching Greg with a bewildered expression. Greg reached out and laid his hand on the side of Nick's neck, his thumb brushing Nick's earlobe.

"Why not?"

Nick couldn't hold back any longer as he expressed his gratitude by kissing Greg fiercely and they progressed from there, with no further interruptions, their temperatures rising with their heart rates. And for hours, there was no world outside of that room, or even outside of their bed as they hid beneath the covers like children sharing a secret, taking cover from the terrors that the night brings.

When both of them had exhausted themselves, their minds hazy and simultaneously crystal clear, they lied near each other beneath the cotton sheets. Greg moved as close to Nick as possible, his arms encircling the older man in his embrace as he bowed his head and he felt Nick's lips in his hair as he kissed the top of Greg's head. Nick closed his eyes, and nothing could ruin this moment, here with Greg. His hair smelled like dead, wet leaves, mingled with the salty scent of sweat. He reminded Nick of a forest after an autumn thunderstorm.

He felt Greg's breath against his chest, dancing like a restless wind across his skin, and it took Nick a moment to realize that Greg was whispering something. He strained his ears, reluctant to ask the younger man to speak up.

But the words Greg uttered were not meant for Nick's ears.

"_Please let her be OK. Please. Just let her be OK._"

His heart skipped a beat and his arms tensed, holding Greg tighter, his fingers lacing themselves in Greg's curls. He felt the white hot water against his chest as Greg's body quaked in his embrace. But he didn't let go. He wished he never had to.

But then the phone rang. Greg stopped shaking. He looked up at Nick, who was staring at the phone vibrating on Greg's end table. Both of them were petrified and for a moment, neither of them moved. And then, one of Nick's hands found Greg's, and the Texan reached for the phone and held it to his ear, his throat tying itself into a knot, so he could barely choke out a greeting.

"Stokes."

It was Grissom's voice that greeted him. "It's Bryce," he said.

Nick stared at Greg for a long time and squeezed his hand.


	18. Epilogue

**_Author's Note:_** Here's the ending! You don't have to read the previews, but they're there if you want them. Once again, thanks to LaughableBlackStorm for the beta!

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Three Months Later..._

She sat in front of his desk, looking tense as she waited for him to speak. She didn't care what he said, so long as he said _something_. As it stood, he was just staring at her, his eyes boring into her, scrutinizing her from the inside out.

His eyes drifted to her resume, and she relaxed a little, glad to be out from under his gaze.

"Thank you," he finally said to her. "We'll keep in touch."

She emitted a huge sigh and nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Dr. Grissom," she said.

He nodded and watched her leave. Shortly thereafter, Ecklie entered his office without knocking.

"You have to hire someone sometime," he said. "She was perfectly qualified."

"Forgive me if I'm reluctant," Grissom said coolly. "But unlike you, I don't just look at qualifications. I need to make sure that whoever I hire will mesh well with my team. I'm not having any more tension. Not like it was with Bryce."

Ecklie nodded, seeming to understand, though Grissom doubted that he really did. "Fine. But if you don't choose someone by the end of the week, I'm choosing for you." And with that, Ecklie turned around and left, bumping Catherine on his way out.

"He's touchy," she commented, closing the door behind her.

"I'm having trouble hiring Bryce's replacement," Grissom explained, looking exhausted.

"Replacement?" Catherine echoed. "No one replaces anyone here. Remember, Gil?"

He forced a smile and nodded. "No, of course not."

Catherine returned the smile as she slid into the chair opposite Grissom. "You know, you don't have to hire a new CSI. I heard swing was feeling a little tight. Ronnie was interested in transferring."

Grissom pursed his lips. "I don't know..." he muttered. "I don't think Ecklie would go for it. With Sara and Warrick gone, and now Bryce... I think he wants the extra hand."

Catherine nodded. "Do you know when she's coming back?"

Grissom knew exactly to whom Catherine was referring. "No. And neither does she. She said she wanted to go out and see the world. I don't know what that means. But she said she would be back soon."

Catherine nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. "But the world continues to spin, doesn't it?"

Grissom smiled, but it didn't chase the fatigue from his eyes. "We do what we can with what we're given. She's coping. So are we."

Catherine returned his smile. "So are we," she echoed. The two of them were silent a moment before Catherine spoke up. "I'm really happy for Nick and Greg. I see a lot of potential when I look at them. Greg makes Nick laugh a little louder, and Nick makes Greg more confident. It's beautiful how they work together."

Grissom nodded absently as he looked over some other potential candidates for hire. "Yes, they make a very good team. Greg's really improving in the field. I think it's partly because of Nick's attentions."

Catherine frowned, skeptically. "In the field?" she repeated.

Grissom looked up at her, his expression blank. "Yes, that's what I said."

"Grissom..." Catherine began slowly. "I wasn't talking about in the field."

Grissom knitted his brow. "I don't follow..."

"Gil, it's been three months... five for them. You have _got_ to tell me you have noticed _something_ different about those two together. _Anything_ at all."

Grissom blinked. It seemed to take him a moment to put the pieces together, but when he did, he seemed mildly disturbed. "No... Nick and Greg?"

Catherine was grinning by now as she chuckled. "_Yes_ Nick and Greg!"

Grissom blinked rapidly and took off his glasses before quietly cleaning them and putting them back on again, as if now he could see the world a little differently. "I didn't think that... Nick and _Greg_?"

Catherine continued to laugh. "I don't think any of us thought _anything_," she giggled. "But for God's sake, Gil, just _look_ at them together, would you?" She stopped laughing, but her smile remained as radiant as ever. "They glow."

Grissom scoffed. "You read too many paperback romance novels," he said before turning back to his file.

She nodded. "OK, maybe that's true," she conceded. "But... They fit. Don't you think?"

He stopped for a moment and looked up at Catherine with a curious smile sparkling in his blue eyes. "You know what? They really do."

* * *

There was a nip in the air as the wind tousled his hair and he shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth, wishing that he had brought a warmer jacket. The sky was gray, but it wasn't raining, although it looked like it might soon. But he preferred it that way. If it had been blue, it would have contrasted with his mood. But the sky was the perfect color to reflect Greg Sanders' thoughts as he stared down at the tombstone in front of him for a long time.

"So we're finally moving on without you," he whispered to no one in particular. "But we'll never be the same." He stood there a moment, as if he expected a response from the stone. He took a deep breath. "I wanted to... apologize. For never really knowing you. It's a regret I'll have to live with. I took you for granted. I thought you'd always be there, and we could hang out tomorrow. But I know..." He held his breath a moment. "I know that you were a very good friend. And a good person."

He felt a pair of warm hands slip around his waist from behind as a chin settled itself on his shoulder. He was suddenly very warm, despite the dreary weather around him. A smile tugged at his features.

"It's colder than it should be in March," he commented, his hands sliding out of his pockets to cover those that rested just below his naval.

Nick kissed his ear softly. "I didn't think you'd be here," he whispered. "But I'm glad you are."

Greg's smile broadened as his fingertips traced a silver band on Nick's left hand. "Do you think that the storm has passed now? That everything is settled and that nothing odd will blow in and tear us apart?"

"I don't know," Nick admitted honestly.

"I do," Greg replied. "I feel calm. Confident. The worst is over and there's nowhere to go but up."

"Mm, you think?" Nick asked, burying his lips in the nape of Greg's neck.

Greg nodded, then turned in Nick's embrace so that they were face to face and stared into the soft chestnut eyes of his lover. He put one hand on Nick's cheek. "Yeah," he said. "I really do."

And the two men shared a soft, quiet kiss on that gray day in the graveyard before the grave of their old friend.

Greg pulled a part and fished something out of his back pocket, waving it in Nick's face. "Got a letter today."

"Oh?" Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Where is she now?"

"Guess," Greg prompted.

"Lima?"

"That was last week."

"Timbuktu?"

"Maybe later," said Greg. "Try again."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Mars? Stop playing with me, G!" He squeezed Greg's hips, playfully.

Greg laughed and pulled the letter out of its envelope. "Try Giza. As in _Pyramids of_?"

Nick laughed and took the letter, opening it to reveal a familiar redhead having trouble staying on the back of a camel as she waved at the camera, wide black sunglasses covering her eyes and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. He laughed. "She's such a tourist."

"Isn't that the point?" Greg asked, taking the letter back.

Nick grinned. "Yeah, I suppose it is. You know, I kind of envy her. Being able to just drop everything and go like that."

"She had issues after she woke up," Greg explained. "She told me she always wanted to travel, but she never had time before. And since she missed so much work, being in that coma for as long as she was, she figured what's a few more months? She's different, too. More... vibrant. Less angry."

"I'll never forget that phone call," Nick whispered. "When Grissom said that she would most likely make a full recovery." His lips delicately kissed Greg's again. "The look on your face was perfect."

"I was so relieved," he breathed. "But even then, it was two weeks before she woke up. She still has some trauma from that. Mostly memory things. She..." His smile faded a little. "She doesn't remember when we found her. She doesn't remember most of that day. Maybe that's for the best, though, right?"

Nick nodded and pulled Greg as close to him as possible. "Right," he agreed, before their lips silenced their conversation. Greg's body still tingled every time Nick kissed him. And his feelings never wavered and never faded.

Greg broke the kiss, looking back at the headstone. "I feel like this is sacrilegious or something. Making out in front of Warrick's grave."

Nick looked at the headstone and the words written on it, and something strange swept over his brown eyes. "I don't think he minds," he said quietly with a smile. "Do you, 'Rick?"

Greg laughed. "You think he'd be happy for us?"

Nick turned to Greg, and the younger man realized that it was adoration in the Texan's eyes. "Happy? Hell, he'd throw us a damn party."

Greg's fingers found Nick's hand. "I just wish he were here to see it."

Nick sighed, and looked at the grave. "Sometimes... I feel like he is." He looked up at Greg. "You ready to go home?"

Greg's eyes lingered on the headstone momentarily before he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Let's go home."

And hand in hand, they left the headstone, the gray skies, and the old storm far behind them.

**The End**

* * *

And what is a WitchGirl story without a few previews? I'm working on three potential chapter stories next. I'll post the previews here, to titillate you so maybe you'll come check them out if/when I decide to post them.

**Sins of the Father**

_Summary:_ The culpability of an entire town comes into question when a tourist discovers the remains of a teenage girl in Wicket, Nevada. Nick and Greg investigate.

Greg's knees were up against the dashboard as he pouted, the sweat rolling down the sides of his face. The windows were down, but the breeze helped very little as it was the middle of July and the desert heat was scorching. He could have been at an Angels game in Anaheim by now, but Grissom had called him in last minute for this case.

"You should consider yourself lucky," Nick said sanctimoniously above the rock music Greg insisted on playing. "It's your first scene outside of Vegas. Griss was gonna send Catherine out, but she bailed because Lindsey's come down with a real bad fever..." Nick trailed off. He probably assumed (wrongly) that Greg hadn't been listening to him.

"Lucky would be me sitting on an air conditioned plane on my way to LA," Greg put in after a moment. "With a layover in Anaheim long enough to watch their game with the Mariners. Lucky is _not_ sitting in a cramped car with a broken air conditioner for five hours as we drive out to some obscure location in the middle of the empty desert."

"Wicket isn't obscure," said Nick. "It's on the map."

Greg unfolded the object as he spoke and squinted at the tiny dot. "World Famous Pancakes. In _what_ world? I've never heard of them."

"A girl is dead, Greg, show a little respect," Nick murmured.

"I'll show respect when I see her," Greg told him. "As it stands, she remains an ambiguous idea that's just hovering out there in the desert, and something I'd rather not think about too much. Like a fever dream. Which, if this heat keeps up, is something else I might have tonight."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you whine too much?" Nick asked. "Believe me, at this rate, I wish you _had_ gone to LA and Catherine was here. She makes for much more interesting conversation."

Greg turned his head to the window, letting the dry air whip at his face. It helped somewhat, but not much. Unwilling to say anymore to Nick Stokes, he turned up the radio until it was blaring and closed his eyes.

This silence lasted for an hour, and Greg had fallen into some form of half sleep when he felt the car suddenly stop and he opened his eyes. It was also very quiet and he wondered vaguely when Nick had turned off the music. Blinking away the crustiness, he looked over to Nick.

"We're here," said the Texan before getting out of the car.

Greg looked out of his window to see a small white building with the words "Sheriff's Office" painted over the door in a faded black color. Nick's back disappeared behind it, refusing to wait for Greg, who instantly hopped out of the car and followed his partner inside.

He was slightly frustrated at the lack of air conditioning in the building. The air was moldy and stuffy and felt as if it hadn't been circulating for years. Greg imagined he had stepped into an ancient tomb, and the man behind the desk was nothing but a youthful-looking mummy.

"You boys must be from Vegas," said the man as he rose to his feet to greet them.

"Yes sir," Nick agreed with a nod as he held out his hand. "My name is Nick Stokes, this here is Greg Sanders. We're with the crime lab. We just want to take a look at Ms. Mason's body and her crime scene to see if we can collect much evidence surrounding her death."

The man took Nick's proffered hand and shook it in welcome. "I'm Sheriff Hawkins. I was under the impression that Vegas would be sending a lady cop...?"

"Yeah, they meant him," Nick said, nodding at Greg.

Slowly, Greg's head turned as he shot Nick a very annoyed and offended look, but the Texan wasn't paying attention.

**Face of the World**

_**Author's Note:** I mentioned this story after "Las Plagas" and it has evolved. The "Sarah" Greg speaks with in this excerpt is not Sara Sidle (hence the different spelling) but rather a patient in a mental ward where Greg recovers from an "accidental overdose."_

"How about kings?" Greg asked hopefully, eying the scrawny blonde girl over the fan of cards in his hand.

She chewed on her lip. "Go fish."

"You're lying to me again, Sarah," Greg accused in a sing-song voice. "You asked for kings three turns ago."

"Did I?" she asked innocently. "I must have meant jacks. They kinda look alike."

"I asked you for jacks _last_ time!" Greg cried incredulously.

"This is a stupid game," Sarah said, throwing down her cards. "I win anyway."

Greg looked at her cards and noticed that she had collected a royal flush. "Sarah, you _do_ know we weren't playing poker, right?"

"This is how my Mom and I played…" Sarah muttered wistfully, her eyes on the window. "She's dead, you know."

"I heard…" Greg replied, putting his cards down on the table as he watched the girl across from him with intrigue. "How did it happen?"

"Murdered."  
"Really?" Greg gasped. "Did you ever catch who did it?"

"Mm hm," Sarah intoned, nodding. "Liquor."

Greg relaxed slightly. "An alcoholic, huh?"

"One of the best," Sarah chimed, turning to Greg again. "She got depressed a lot too. Dr. Wright says it's hereditary sometimes."

"What about your dad?"

"He killed himself," Sarah told him flatly. "The method was rather unusual. He worked in a tiny cubicle dead-end job until he had a heart attack. He fell over on his keyboard and everyone just thought he had passed out from sleep exhaustion until he started to smell. Not even the funeral home makeup artist could cover up the square imprints left on his forehead by the keys…"

Greg bit his lip. "Did you make him wear a hat?"

To his relief, she chuckled. "Mom combed his hair down to cover it." She collected her cards and Greg's. "I can tell your future with these," she whispered.

"I thought you could only do that with Tarot Cards," said Greg, though he was intrigued.

"In Tarot, every card has a meaning. It's the same in any deck," Sarah explained. "I know them all." She began to lay the cards down on the table in a fashion that Greg had never seen before. He tilted his head upward and looked down with his eyes, remembering how his grandmother's frail, trembling hands had slowly flipped her deck, and how when he was nine-years-old she had predicted that he would choose a profession surrounded by sin.

Sarah flipped over a card. "Queen of diamonds," she whispered, looking up at Greg. "You've been cut pretty badly by this woman."

He knew she was improvising based on what she already knew about him. "Tell me something I don't know, Sarah."

So she continued, flipping over another card. "Seven of clubs," she stated frankly. "The clubs represent something dark, but something you did by choice. The seven indicates luck. Lucky poison," She smirked.

Greg blinked, recognizing what she was referencing. "Keep going, sweetheart."

She flipped the next card. "Three of hearts." She didn't say a word.

"What's it mean?" Greg asked.

She didn't answer as she flipped the next card over. The ace of hearts. "You have three friends who care about you very much," she whispered. She pointed at the ace. "And one who bleeds for you."

Greg's brow furrowed. "Bleeds for me? What does that mean?"

Sarah pointed at the queen of diamonds. "She cut you…" she said, placing the queen behind the ace. "And as consequence, he is the one who bleeds."

"He?" Greg didn't understand.

She shrugged. "Or she. Cards are non-specific." She jabbed her forefinger at the single heart in the middle. "The lonely bleeding heart. Tortured by the simple fact that it cares too much."

Greg stared at the ace of hearts as it laid there innocently on the table. Sarah shifted in her chair, bringing her legs up on the seat and folding them under her. She lifted the ace of hearts and tucked it in the sweater she wore over her hospital gown, then smiled up at Greg.

"I'll take this for now," she whispered. "I could use a friend like that."

**War Games**

_Summary:_ A distraught marine seeks Greg's help to find her son and her husband's killer. As Nick suspects something deeper between the two of them, Greg slowly uncovers the motive behind the kidnapping, and when the truth is revealed, no heart is left unscathed.

Nick closed the door and leaned against it, studying Greg. "Tell me the truth," he began. "What happened between you and that crazy marine?"

Greg tried to wave it away, like a bad smell. "No, Nick, it doesn't matter, now come on, a little boy is missing—"

"Who's little boy?" Nick broke in. "You said it yourself, he's not Leo Delfino's kid. So who is Max Warner's father?"

Greg bit his lip. "I spoke out of turn," he admitted. "Leo was there when Max was born. For all intents and purposes, he _is_ Max's father."

"But biologically," Nick pressed. "Was Rachel sleeping around? Is that why you split?"

Greg laughed, awkwardly and loudly. "You know what Nick? I love it when you pry into my personal life, I really do, but as it stands I have a nine-year-old boy who's probably scared senseless to find and you are _not_ helping—"

"When were you and Rachel married?" Nick interjected, his tone interrogatory.

Greg sighs. "None of that will help you find him faster! I have _told_ you all that you need to know, so please, Nick, just help me get this boy back—"

"Max is nine," Nick persevered. "That means you were… what, twenty-three when he was born? Did you know Rachel then?"

"I told you, I wasn't there—"

"But Leo was," Nick said quickly, catching Greg in a corner. "Her current husband was, which means that you were married to her before that happened."

Greg opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it and pushed Nick instead. "I don't have to take this! I have nothing to tell you, Nick! My past with Rachel is private, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Twenty-three," Nick continued, his eyes dark. "Didn't you lose your virginity when you were twenty-two?"

"Bite me," Greg growled furiously, his face burning, and he pushed Nick forcefully away from the door before stepping inside again.

* * *

So I hoped you enjoyed the epilogue, and these little tidbits. Thanks for reading (and in advance, for reviewing!) Reviews are my bread and butter. :o)


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